Final Fantasy: Light of Sacred Dawn
by Delaroy
Summary: Based loosely on the original Final Fantasy. Chapter 26: The Light Warriors head north of Cornelia City to meet an engineer who can help them, while at the same time still dealing with feelings of failure from their previous encounter with the Dark Elves.
1. Prologue: Sole Expedition

**Disclaimer: I have written this purely for entertainment purposes and have received no money for doing so. Square-Enix owns Final Fantasy.**

A little history first, if you are willing to bear with me.

The first Final Fantasy game I ever played was FF4. It was the first encounter I had ever had with RPG's. Before then, I was addicted to side-scrolling fighters and racing games. Final Fantasy changed all that for me. From then on, I began to seek out new role-playing experiences, and I always considered the Final Fantasy series, and games by Square in general, to be the epitome of those experiences.

Anyhow, it was FF4 that first got me into writing. I believe I was eleven at the time, and I wrote my first fanfiction in a journal my mother had gifted me on Christmas. Instead of writing journal entries, I wrote that very first story. I still have that journal, and my God, the story is terrible, composed much more of youthful enthusiasm than any actual writing skill. It was the very first thing I had ever written for fun, however, so I try not to be too critical of it in hindsight.

I'd like to think that my writing has gotten better over the years, and so here is my fanfiction based loosely on the original Final Fantasy. You may also notice small bits of other games from the series mixed in. Please enjoy and feel free to review.

**Final Fantasy: Light of Sacred Dawn**

By Delaroy

**Sole Expedition**

A clammy mist hung in air, a tension mixed with it.

It was cold up here in the rocky foothills, inclining ever upward toward the southern mountains. It is here that the knight decided to rest.

His elaborate plate armor caught and held the chill, but fortunately his royal blue cloak was lined with plush ermine, helping to grant him a semblance of warmth.

Mainly, however, it was his iron will that kept him going.

He had no choice. The vision had come to him one night with a sense of urgency that had made him pant. There was no denying the impending sense of doom that hung over the world, but of which only a handful were aware. The knight had informed the other three members of the Pact, but not anyone else, not his lady wife, not his young son, not even his cousin, the King.

No, he had chartered a simple merchant's wind-spinner, a modest - and discrete - mode of travel, to come this far south of the White City. What the small airship had lacked in luxury and comfort, it had made up for in speed, and the knight had had need of this above all else.

So here he sat upon a smooth boulder, his cloak wrapped about him tightly. He barely felt the weight of his white-enameled plate-and-mail, since he had been donning and fighting in it for years, but the cold it fostered made him shiver every now and then...

That is what he tried to tell himself anyway, that it was the chill in the air, not the foreboding in his soul. If it were only the chill, the knight would have been happy - elated even.

He shook his head...

The world was slowly sliding into darkness, the balance unraveling. Happiness was waning, things were going awry. The knight felt it, even if many others did not... or pretended not to. A sinister change was spreading over the land; a change that brought with it a twisting of natural feelings and inclinations.

The knight knew this to be true. His cousin and friend was not the same man the knight had once known. The King was a different person now, still a great commander and orator, but ambition was driving him, an unnatural predilection to conquer. The knight had discerned this during his last meeting among the Knight Grand Masters as they met with the King. His Majesty Highland VI had decreed that the all the old brotherhoods were to be subsumed into the Royal Knighthood, led by Knight-General Garland of the Dark Sword. Powerful nobles in their own right, several masters had refused, though more had agreed. The King could not abolish those that refused, but he did declare them contrary and their popularity had waned quickly over the last year.

In consolidating the knights with regular forces, the King had granted himself a powerful standing army, which had aided in the overall drop in influence amongst the brotherhoods that had defied his 'vision'.

Many had seen this as a progressive step forward, but the knight knew better. The royal coffers had also been expanded with increased taxation over the last year, the basis for a raise in military spending. The Royal Knights, trained heavily under Garland like his own personal regiment, and the regular forces were taught new tactics and maneuvers under grizzled mercenary captains.

The knight could only see one outcome to all this sudden mobilization...

War was in the offing. The Kingdom of Highland was arming itself in order to wage war upon the Dragon Empire to the north. The two nations had a shaky history at best, but had enjoyed relative peace for several centuries. The knight had read between the lines of these events and rooted out his cousin's ambition. However, His Majesty had made it seem as if all this was simply concern for his realm's security; proclaiming that the Empire was secretly girding itself to invade Highland.

Everyone remembered the tales of the old wars between the two countries. The Empire's dragoons were potent and merciless foes that had battered Highland's knights and regular forces alike. Only the old hero, Dulahan, and his band had driven them back by slaying their leader... though he and most of his friends had died for it.

The King had skillfully reminded the masses of these grisly foes, and the people had been convinced by and large. Fear had garnered their consent, along with their now misplaced trust in their ruler. The knight had seen them thus convinced.

The man suddenly stood, his armor clinking as he did so. He was the Grand Master of the Order of Sacred Dawn, and his plate-and-mail was suitably elaborate, reflecting the great wealth of his house. Enameled white, the armor was banded with gold along its edges, the pauldrons shaped in the likeness of the rising sun with wavy rays. An armored gorget covered the man's neck and chin, the sun symbol at its largest upon his breastplate. The couter plates that guarded his elbows and the cuisse and greaves of his leg armor were also molded with the symbol, repeated throughout so that none who looked upon him could possibly doubt his affiliation.

The knight took up his white shield where it rested, banded about the edges in plain steel and showing off the sun symbol upon its face with detail commensurate to the one on his breastplate. He then drew his fine steel broadsword through the slit of his fur-lined cloak, its long hand-and-a-half hilt wrapped in blue-hide and topped with a sapphire the size of a child's fist. The four-foot blade itself was tempered steel inscribed with old runes upon its length, proclaiming the virtue's of a Knight of the Sacred Dawn: Courage, Dedication, Temperance, Forthrightness, Honesty, and Strength.

The knight had given his solemn oath to uphold these virtues, and it was his forthrightness that had brought the current tension between him and his cousin.

Ignoring the chill, which clung to the rocky path with the mist, the knight moved forward. There was no wind here, and the sun set early in the mountains, so darkness was coming on quickly.

None of it felt right.

According to the Brehan – the people of this land - these mountains had, until recently, always been a source of mineral wealth and jobs for the many mining towns that had once dotted the foothills. The Brehan, however, had spoke of a subtle curse falling over the mountains, and, in time, the mining towns had been abandoned. There was talk of a horrific plague. Many mountain settlements had been abandoned, but not all. Now it seemed no one ventured up here, and the people that had stayed had not been seen since the murky mists had come.

His elaborate armor notwithstanding, the knight wore no helmet, his noble features and rugged countenance bare to the world, his emerald eyes sharp. His rich brown hair was graying at the edges, worn long and tied back into a tail. Upon his left cheek was a scar he had gained during the Second Goblin War in his youth, which tugged slightly at his lip. With night coming on and the mist reducing visibility, the knight could not afford a helm and its stifling of his sight. He knew he would need his senses at their keenest as he ascended the trail.

As the knight climbed, he spotted sources of tawny light in the distance. He thought they might be lanterns at first, but was surprised to see that as he went farther up, small plinths of glowing crystal stuck up from the rocky ground. Their light waxed and waned, providing an aura could only be described as... sickly.

As the sun disappeared, it was these lights that lit the path with enough illumination so that the knight did not have to make use of the torch he had brought with him – a great convenience since he could keep his shield at the ready without tripping over his own feet.

A strange sense of timelessness enfolded the mountain path as the knight continued. The world was reduced to a bare twenty feet all about, the mist thickening and diffusing the light of the crystal plinths until it seemed the whole world glowed with their soft tawny aura.

As he came up, the crystal growths became larger and more frequent, and within some, their light seemed to writhe, which instilled an unnerving sensation. Indeed, it seemed as if the entire atmosphere seemed to take on a weight of its own... an aloof sense of disintegration coiling about everything.

The glowing night swallowed sound; the knight's steps, the minimal clinking of his well-fitting armor. As he went up he felt more and more dislocated from everything around him, as if he were cautiously navigating the surreal. Soon, he had to fight against a lulling sensation that made him almost slothful...

This place was filled with the unnatural.

Soon the knight stopped, as he saw the beginnings of a mining village at the edge of the mists. The crystals continued to sprout between the simple wooden houses and their stone foundations, and the knight saw quickly the shriveled bodies of the dead lying all about. He winced at their sickly pallor, aided-and-abetted by the ghastly light of the crystals.

Yes, a most deadly plague had ravaged this place indeed.

The knight picked his way through the village, very careful of where he put each step. He stopped every now and then to study a body – though not very closely. He quickly moved on, nodding to himself, grateful he had taken his friend's advice before coming here.

He did wear the ensorcelled ring, bound with a helpful spell the mage had gifted him. It would activate with but a single word, convenient since the knight knew as much about magic as his friend knew about blades.

However, it would be used under one circumstance only.

The man crept on, willing his movements to silence. He felt there was something here he should not disturb – that he should turn right now and withdraw. The calling of the vision pulled him on, however, along with duty and curiosity both...

He had to see it with his own eyes.

The knight eventually came to follow a line of rail, dilapidated mining carts lined together in a train before the gaping maw of a mighty cave. The knight went in, skirting one wall. The sickly yellow-brown light continued to illuminate everything, the shards and plinths bigger than ever in the cave. The mist was also thicker here, and the knight fought the urge to cough several times.

Suddenly he turned as a shadow eclipsed the misty backlight and a huge bristly black spider the size of a mastiff stared at him with several pairs of alien eyes – before leaping with fangs bared!

The man reacted instantly. With uncanny timing, he knocked the monster out of mid-air with a shield-bash. The beast struck the ground to writhe about, momentarily stunned. The knight gave it no chance to recover, going up swiftly and thrusting his tempered steel through its thorax. The creature shrieked once, brackish ichor pulsing from its wound. The knight twisted the heavy blade and the monster's legs quickly folded up, signifying its death.

Dour, the knight pulled his sword free and wiped it off as best he could on the carcass. He scanned the cave thoroughly afterward, and then took up his trek again.

Ever peering forward, the knight quickly noticed that the tawny light became stronger farther in, and soon he found that the rock walls of the cave gave way completely to a corridor of crystal, the malignant yellowish light very bright now.

Soon it hurt the eyes, especially when the mist suddenly thinned and the knight entered an enormous cavern, its circumference so broad that it should have disappeared into darkness.

In the center of the prodigious cavern was a vast pillar of brackish crystal that pulsed in time with the man's heartbeat. Gaping, the knight walked up, utterly dwarfed by it. It arose from the cavern floor below, reaching up to the ceiling high above. The walls, the ceiling; every facet of the cavern was made of this sickly crystal...

And it beat in time with pulse.

The man dropped his sword and shield, falling to his knees. Tears sprang into his eyes as he looked upon the desecrated artifact, spoken of in so many legends, though the one in legend was noble, proud, the very pinnacle of life. This thing was misshapen, destitute, dying; a malignant growth that was spreading slowly to displace the natural rock of the mountain. How long until it reached the bulk of the Brehan settlements below?

Suddenly, as if liquid, one of the crystal's many facets seemed to bubble out, and then lengthen. It sounded like molten metal boiling as it grew - a new malignant limb reaching, most desperately, for the one that had come to it as bidden.

The knight did not move back, knowing instinctively that the crystal had something to impart, something utterly indispensable to the world beyond it's caves. He merely knelt there in solemn reverence and waited as the sickly limb made its way to hover before him.

Then there was a sudden flare of radiant power, which suddenly flowed down the limb granting it a coruscating effect that banished the sickly glow as it came through. This light traveled down the length of the limb until something small fell out of the limb's edge, directly into the knight's uplifted hands. He brought it down to look...

It was a small orb of what seemed glass; clear, unblemished, and fitting perfectly in the palm of one hand.

Afterward, the extended limb quickly solidified to the point where it broke off, crashing to the ground. It struck and shattered into a hundred shards. The crystal's pulse slowed, no longer in syncopation with the knight's own.

The man could sense its weariness... its weakness. He felt words flit through his head, a desperate woman's plea: _...You must... find the one chosen light... or all is lost..._

The knight cupped the sacred orb reverently in his gauntleted hands and nodded silently. Without a word, he placed the orb into a secure pouch strapped to his neck, tucking it as best he could beneath his breastplate. He then turned, heading back the way he had come...

He knew the Crystal of Earth had nothing more to say.

The knight regained his composure when he left the crystal chamber behind, moving forward resolutely. He knew his mission with utter clarity now, coming up to the maw of the mine that led out to the village. The mists had dispersed somewhat, broadening the knight's field of vision, and he stopped just outside the cave by the mining carts and nodded. Every plague-ravaged body he had noticed coming in was gone.

It had happened, just as the oracle said it would, and the knight raised his sword before him, until his eyes peered just passed the cross-guard. "Enwreathe..." he intoned.

The plain iron ring on his finger evaporated as a blazing orange snake of fire spiraled up to enveloped the blade of his sword. He did not feel its heat, but he knew his foes most assuredly would.

His sword now a torch that burned the mist away, the knight went forward slowly, readying himself when the first knot of undead appeared. They came up awkwardly, shambling and moaning. It was a pitiful chorus: those beyond the grave crying out for the one thing that could satiate their tortured un-lives...

The flesh of the living.

The knight gave a salute to the poor souls, knowing it was his duty to release them from their cursed existence. He then charged in among them.

The gangly creatures tried to grasp at him, but the knight blunted such attempts easily. Much stronger than they looked, the corpses were still no match for his fiery blade. He slashed one across the chest and it was quickly consumed in flame, falling apart in seconds. A reverse slash saw another headless, both pieces igniting with the magic flame consuming their diseased flesh greedily.

Of course, there were no cries of pain from the fire, only the lingering need of the creatures and their pitiful moans for it. The knight ignored their sullen bellows, hardening himself with years of training and discipline, and he fought through the droves that came at him in their broken gaits.

Keeping his back to a wall, the knight let them come on, striking out when they ambled close, setting those ablaze. They were slow and attacked awkwardly, and the man trimmed their numbers until it was safe enough to burn a corridor through the remaining throng.

The last zombie died with when the knight thrust his blazing sword through the creature's exposed entrails. All that was left afterward were the remains of burnt bones, the smell of char heavy in the air.

The knight moved off nearly clear of the village, when he suddenly felt a strong backward tug that ripped apart the clasping brooch; his cloak suddenly pulled away. The knight turned to find a taller, gaunter creature; cadaverous and with pale distended flesh, dropping his cloak to the ground. Its skull-like face was angular, its rheumy eyes actually focused, quite unlike the previous undead.

The man saw it clearly as it crouched, grinning its skull-grin at him, its eyes widening maliciously...

Shortly after, the blazing enchantment upon the knight's sword sputtered and died. All that was left was the tawny light of the crystals. The clammy mists crept in again.

There was no roar or shriek to announce the attack, but the monster did pounce. It leapt out of the mist, bringing one bony fist to slam against the knight's sun-emblazoned shield before disappearing back into the brume.

The man had slid back two feet from the force of the blow. He knew the device on his shield was cracked, though the armor itself still held. He quickly took a defensive stance, and moved slowly away to put his back to a large outcrop of crystal.

Nothing happened as his eyes darted about. Silence was the world.

The knight heard a scratching sound and immediately looked up...

The monster peered down at him, crouched upon the top of the crystal plinth before leaping down to launch a straight-armed punch at the knight. The man caught it with his shield, but the creature did not cease, pummeling the shield until it cracked, its steel face splitting. It quickly fell in two halves to the ground.

With this the creature grinned wickedly again and went left - immediately lost in the writhing brume.

The knight moved back down the mountain trail, keeping his back to the sheer wall along the right of the path, moving from pool of light to pool of light. He took up his sword two-handed, for there was no reason not to, and inched slowly down the rocky trail. He stumbled a bit in the poor visibility, but his eyes never lowered from their vigil.

The creature attacked him in the damp grayness between pools of light, clutching at him now. Nearly face to face, the knight could smell the monster's rancid breath, its powerful long-fingered hands pinning his arms to his sides... and squeezing. He could feel the pressure through his armor, but the plate was holding.

The man snarled in defiance, even though he was inwardly unnerved by the eerily human eyes of the creature before him, set in that unholy skull-face. The knight weathered through the smell of rotting meat that pervaded the creature and forced a challenge into his gaze.

The monster responded by inching closer, opening its distended jaw and allowing a mottled tongue to writhe out. Gray-green, the thing dripped a viscous black ichor.

The knight waited until he was certain the creature was ready to feed, and then smiled.

"Ignite..." he said, and the the creature's eyes widened. Suddenly, it let go of his arms and the knight swept his blazing blade up, taking both the creature's arms off at the elbows.

Black ichor flowed from the severed limbs, and the undead did shriek now, backing away. The knight kept on, however: "My friend knows well the power of fire, monster. Rest in Heaven's Embrace!" He charged up and brought his blade down in a heavy slash, chopping the ghoul from shoulder to navel. Its undead flesh burst into flame as it was split in twain and it was rapidly consumed, bones and all.

Only a little sore, the knight turned and moved down the mountain path more quickly after. He had kept the bronze ring in reserve just in case, and had waited to use it when the ghoul had displayed the knack for toying with him. Intelligent, the creature would not have come at him if he held a blazing sword. He had had to lure it in, since it was cunning and much faster than a man in full-plate. The ruse had worked and the knight had survived the encounter.

But the true test had not even begun yet; a trial that would not be his. He had gathered the orb, as the others of the Pact had hopefully gathered theirs. He had to meet with them as soon as possible and then the true search could begin; the search for the ones of prophecy...

The Light Warriors.

The knight felt such urgency that he stopped being cautious, moving through the night as fast as visibility and his armor would allow. The airship was in the valley below, and he could see the fuzzy lights of its distant lanterns as he came below the line of the mountain's concealing mists. His blazing sword allowed him enough light to see by when the crystal growths tapered off, and he was winding down the final stretch through the foothills when its light sputtered and died.

The man coughed a bit in the cold night, now reaching about to sheathe his sword. He had lost little, merely a cloak and shield, but he had gained the salvation of all life. He felt it tucked beneath his breastplate.

Coughing again, the knight rushed up to the vessel amidships. With a flat keel so it could land on earth, the wind-spinner was indeed much smaller than a normal merchantman, but it had served his purpose.

The knight stopped, looking up at a young sentry, a boy that was trying to warm himself under a plain brown cloak. "Shipman, I am ready to depart. Rouse the captain."

The boy said nothing, knuckling his forehead and heading astern toward the cabin.

A broad man in a slightly better cut navy cloak came out; his head bald, though he sported thick black mutton-chop sideburns afore the ears and had eyes like chips of flint. "Eh, Sir Knight, ya finished your quest?"

Vinter Loftlan shook his head. "No, good captain, I have yet to finish it. I will grant you and your crew double the charter rate if you can get me back to the White City in a week's time."

The knight saw the captain's beady eyes widen appreciatively at that. Sometimes greed was good for something. "Aye, Lord Knight, I'll make it happen as certain sure." He then turned and began bellowing orders as the crew began to come up from the forecastle.

The cabin boy rolled down the rope ladder and knight began to climb it. Once on deck, he felt exhausted and leaned on the side rail, until the crew's activities forced him back toward the cabin. Vinter was no engineer so he wasn't sure how an airship accomplished lift, though he had seen the twin props situated where the rudder of a sailing ship was, which he knew provided thrust. Once the vessel was powered up, the crew worked on extending the broad wings from the side of the vessel. Growing out from amidships, the devices were built of retractable wooden frames covered in sturdy canvas, which helped the vessel to glide and maneuver but were not the main components of lift.

The vessel quickly arose thirty feet in air and turned forty-five degrees, its prow pointing north. It started forward slowly, heading low over the valley, but rising up ever higher until it was near cruising altitude.

The knight coughed into his fist, before he looked out over the dark starlit world. The airship's operation was pure cacophony; noise divided between the working engines and the shouts of the crew. It didn't matter, however, the man felt peace up here amongst the ebon serenity.

He just prayed he could make it back in time to convince his cousin to delay the war for at least another two years. That was now his first priority. The Pact needed time to search, and the knight needed time for his son...

The boy would come of age in two years time.


	2. Earth

**Earth...**

Clouds of iron gray covered the sky to the horizon, and a chill wind blew in from the north.

The young man could hear it howling, and felt the drizzle of rain on his exposed face. He had been told by many a noble and friend, that he looked so like his father...

If only he were that strong.

He gazed upon the shrine, carved elaborately of gold-veined white marble, and topped by a life-size likeness of a powerful knight in full-plate, lifting his broadsword overhead as if proclaiming something profound.

Indeed it did, for in a recess of the shrine was a golden urn, which housed the ashes of Vinter Loftlan.

He had died one year ago of a wasting sickness that had forced him into seclusion. So horrid was it, that the man had ordered himself sealed off from the entire household. The Headmaster of the Holy Order of the White Staff had come personally to see to his father, and he had declared that he had done all he could to contain the sickness, but that the knight's body would have to be burned upon death in order to stop the unholy blight from spreading.

The Headmaster had been a close friend of Vinter's.

Valor Loftlan also considered the old priest an ally, and if there was nothing he could have done with his mastery of white magic, then the boy's father had been truly doomed.

Valor stood up from where he knelt before the shrine, remembering his vow to his father ten years passed.

He had not been raised like normal children. His father had instilled in him an acute sense of duty from an early age, and had told him that he must become a warrior like no other.

He had said it would be necessary, but he had never said why. At five years of age, the boy had not understood, but his father had taught him that he must forego the squire's training of a knight precisely because it was too limited. A knight learned the sword, and worked as a shock troop in battles; the heaviest of infantry, opening gaps in the line of the foe and demoralizing them. To this end they had excelled in history... at least known history. Many gaps were evident in the ancient tales and many speculated that the knight had once proffered a slightly different role.

It was all due to the Cataclysms. So much knowledge had been lost from ancient times because of them. There had been four of these great catastrophes... each one almost completely obliterating civilization; two of them even rearranging the face of the planet, killing and displacing millions.

Despite the knight's potent role, Valor's father had told him that he must learn as many weapons as he could. He must undergo training that many a noble knight would balk at and consider beneath them. He must learn not only the sword, but the axe, long considered a primitive weapon wielded by barbarians. He must learn the bow, often scoffed at as a peasant's weapon. His father had also taken him to train in a secluded mountain monastery outside the bounds of the kingdom to learn unarmed fighting from the serene but powerful Monks of the Unrelenting Fist. He had trained there for nearly two years, after which he had turned ten and gone back to his family's estate within the City of Dreams, Cornelia, capital of the Kingdom of Highland.

His father had hired mercenary veterans to teach Valor the spear and halberd and he had drilled with them as he did with the sword. Each weapon had different maneuvers and tactics, and he had learned solo drills as well as how to fight in a unit. He learned the mace from an acolyte of the White Staff, was taught greatweapons: sword, axe, and hammer, from a variety of other teachers as well.

Not only weapons, but armor training had also been taught. Valor had learned light armor; padded cloth and leather, and reinforced or studded leather. He learned how they felt, wore them for days on end; ate and slept in them until they became a second skin. He wore mail as well, scale and ring and combinations of both; from a leather coat woven with scaled disks to a chain-mail hauberk. Finally he had learned to don plate-and-mail, the best personal protection anyone could get. The boy's father had even commissioned a brand new suit of full-plate to be tailor-made for Valor when he came of age. That was in one month's time.

The boy shook his head. It didn't seem to mean much now, not with his father gone. Still, he would never relinquish his vow. Ever.

The boy looked up into the sky, his deep blue eyes longing to know if his father watched down upon him from the heavens. He felt the rain on his face, his jaw-line broad, his countenance somewhat bluff, yet still angular at the cheeks, his nose aquiline like his mothers. He wore his brown hair long, tied back into a tail like his father, yet unlike his father, his hair contained a great many silver highlights. He was not prematurely aging, but seemed to possess some of the silver hair of his mother, a rare color.

As for stature, the young man was tall like both his parents, and broad in the shoulders and arms. Having done nothing but training and sparring for years, the boy was heavily muscled. Signs showed beneath his clothes, consisting of white damask: fine breeches of snug fit, and an elaborate white doublet with dagged sleeves. He wore ornamental pauldrons of worked silver, both molded in the form of the front quarter of a charging bull; the sigil of his House. His royal blue cloak was lined in ermine, similar to the one his father wore. Upon the boy's brow was a plain iron circlet used to hold back his hair.

The shrine was situated in a small alcove just before a cluster of white-barked trees that marked the southern extent of the boy's estate within the White City. He regained himself from his reminiscence and gazed at the shrine again. Reverently, he put his fist to chest – an old salute – before turning to head back toward the manor.

His mother, the Duchess of Loftlan, awaited him. She had told him today was a very special day. He did not feel it so as he descended from the hill down into the grounds proper. The walled estate was quite large, filled with gardens both decorative and practical along with a small orchard to one side. With spring having begun a week passed, the place should have been budding, but the past few years it seemed the chill of winter seemed to linger longer and longer.

The winds made the boy's cloak flare as he walked along a white stone path, skirting hedges that had yet to bud, forming shoulder-high walls in a complex pattern until they tapered off before a wide semi-circular plaza just before the white facade of the manor house. A great veranda supported by white columns marked the entrance to the building, under which two large double doors led inward. The house itself was two stories tall, an elaborate work of white-washed stone with decorative friezes and relief depicting rows of charging bulls along the foundation. Elaborate cornices were also shaped like the front quarter of a charging bull, looking down into the plaza. High-arched windows lined the length of both floors.

Valor stopped short before leaving the hedges, however, when he noticed his mother sitting across from a seemingly noble visitor in the plaza at a white table under a peaked white tarp suspended on poles to protect from the rain. Several white liveried servants circled the table ready to attend to any need, and Valor knelt among the hedges hoping to go unspotted while he listened and watched.

Aria Brigada Loftlan was extremely beautiful in her late thirties, a tall slender woman that wore a dark blue samite dress, her countenance soft and friendly as she contemplated the words of her visitor. Her argent hair was worn long, a diadem of worked silver tipped with a sapphire at its fore, keeping back her bangs. Her emerald eyes were bright, and always seemed to hold a knowing light within them. Her smile seemed open and inviting, but Valor knew better. His mother was a trained member of court and could dissemble with the best of them. The boy had barely ever learned such skills, since he had been focused solely on weapons' training and combat for as long as he could remember. In seeing his mother at work, he was always in awe of her power.

The visitor was the Count Sumpter Baigan, a bluff man in his middle years, which Valor had never been able to bring himself to like. He was a lieutenant of the Royal Knights, one of the Knight-General's closest men in fact. He wore a dress uniform not unlike the boy's but of black damask with a scarlet cloak and a white surcoat displaying the emblem of the Royal Knights; a black sword, hilt down, upon it. He was blond with dark eyes and a bluff chin and seemed to be speaking amiably, a smile on his shaven face.

"My Lady Duchess, I am delighted that you agreed to this meeting between us. I know that you have mourned long the passing of your most noble husband, and I would wish to see you regain the happiness you once had. I know I am but one among many suitors, but I promise you all the wealth and backing of mine own House should you choose to unite with me in marriage. Such a thing would be most beneficial since our nation looms on the precipice of war with the dreaded Dragon Empire."

Aria lifted a silver goblet to her full lips before sipping lightly, and Valor knew his mother's eyes were studying the man intently without seeming to do so over its rim. "Yes, Lord Baigan, such a horrid state of affairs. I have heard that the Empire's dragoons have taken the Point of Phemnal along the Sullen Hills between our nations, displacing many hill peoples of the clans, while enticing and making use of clannish berserkers in their raids on our border forts. I do hope that Lord Garland has something in place to stop them advancing further?"

The man looked down, smiling apologetically. "You hear a great deal, as I would expect, my Lady, but I cannot divulge such information."

The woman nodded. "Of course, my Lord, merely a curiosity on my part. With war looming, it is good to know as much as one can about the ebb and flow of battles, especially amongst the nobility. We must know so that we can prepare to shelter the people in times of need."

The man coughed lightly into his fist. "Of course, my Lady, you are a noble soul indeed. Anyhow, as for my proposal-" He was suddenly interrupted when a servant came up from the house. Valor thought he caught a scowl on the man's face but it was quickly gone.

In white livery with a the crest of the House upon her breast, the maid gave a slight bow. "Pardon me, my Lady, but the High Priest Dalton has just arrived. He says he has an urgent matter to speak to you about."

Concern immediately made the woman frown. She looked at the Count Baigan. "I am so sorry, my Lord, but this is an issue of much urgency if the High Priest is here in person. I must attend him."

It was clear to Valor that the man was upset, his jaw taut, but he smiled all the same and stood. "There is no need to apologize, Lady Brigada. This can wait and I have my own duties to attend to." He paused to come over and take her hand in his own. "Please, my Lady, consider my proposal in earnest. I shall call upon you soon."

Aria gave a considerate smile. "I will of course, my Lord."

With that the man left, taking a hedge-lined path around the left side of the house. When he was gone, Lady Loftlan looked over toward the edge of the hedge maze. "It is all right, my son, he is gone."

The servants seemed startled, though Valor was not, when he stood and walked up under the tarp. He had never been able to hide from his mother, not when playing games as a child, and not now.

The servants bowed at his approach and his mother stood to greet him. He was a head taller than her, much like his father had been, though she was not a short woman.

She smiled genuinely. "So, my son, what did you learn from this encounter?"

The young man scowled. "Baigan is a fool! He called you by your maiden name, an insult to father. He was upset when Rhia interrupted."

The woman nodded. "He is a boor, and poorly trained at hiding what he feels, yet he is loyal to Garland, and cautious concerning what he thinks is important. Of course, because of his association with the Knight-General and the general's four greatest backers, he wields considerable influence despite his lack of guile. There are distinct circles of power solidifying in the court of late, seemingly divided into two large camps. The most powerful contains those more in favor with the King's policies of late, containing many noble knights of the Royal Order and other nobles and merchant princes. The other camp contains many disenfranchised nobles who had once been good friends of the King, mostly headed by the older orders of knights that had refused to be subsumed into the new Royal Order under Garland."

Valor nodded. "Including father's old knighthood, the Order of the Sacred Dawn."

The Duchess nodded. "Yes, Valor, and things are only going to escalate. Your father said that he had learned of the King's true intent two years ago, but as he went to confront him, he learned something monstrous. The King had never intended an out-right invasion of the Dragon Empire. Instead, forces are moving quietly I fear... on both sides of the border. Skirmishes have intensified, but no overt declaration has been given. It is all games within games now, my son."

The boy looked off. "I don't know if I have the stomach for such games, mother."

The woman cupped his face with one hand. "No, my son, you do not, much like your father. You are both forthright and honorable to a degree that is no longer favorable... yet that is why I love you so much."

Valor's eyes closed with a sigh. "If only father were still alive."

Aria relinquished her hand. "Yes, my son, I will always miss him terribly, as I know you must. However, we must continue moving forward, for that is our duty to our people. Today is the day you will learn something truly life-altering, my son. Benson is undoubtedly entertaining the High Priest in the parlor at present and we must meet with him soon."

The boy furrowed his brow. "Why has the Headmaster come today, mother?"

"He has a gift for you, my son, something he says your father gave to him upon his death bed; something that had to be kept from you until the appointed time."

"A gift from father?"

"Yes, Valor. Let us go, we should not keep our old friend waiting."

The boy agreed and followed his mother through the double doors and into the house's grand foyer. It was a large bi-level room with a floor of white marble, blue tapestries hanging from the walls, each embroidered with a rampant silver bull upon them. Escutcheons quartered with the House's coat-of-arms were displayed between the tapestries. Twin staircases wound up slightly to connect to an overlooking balcony that marked the second floor above.

Once inside, Aria dismissed her servants to their duties with an order to tell the cooks that a noon-day meal was to be prepared. Then, just the Duchess and her son went through a smaller pair of double doors between the staircases, which led into the parlor. The room was a large square, with dark paneling along the walls, the floors layered with many plush carpets. Several high-back chairs were set up in a semicircle before a worked stone hearth across the room, alight with a crackling blaze that hardly seemed to warm the room at all. Spiced logs had been added to the fire and tinged the parlor with the scent of lavender.

Clarkwell Benson was there, the steward of the manor; a tall gaunt man in fine livery. He was nearly sixty, his face seemingly pinched in the permanent impression of smelling something bad. His beak of a nose was always lifted in the air, and his head was bald and shone brightly as if polished. He ran the household with an iron fist, answerable only to the Lady Duchess. Valor himself believed the man probably wouldn't listen to him if it weren't for the fact that he was the Lady's child.

With impeccable posture, the steward bowed sharply before Aria before gesturing toward one of the chairs near the hearth. His voice was as pinched as his face. "Your guest is here, my Lady," he announced, before leaving the room, closing the dark wooden doors behind him.

Another man stood from one of the chairs, bowing to them both. The High Priest Dalton Samar of the Order of the White Staff was a small man, getting on in years, though still fit and lean with kind gray eyes in a fatherly face. He gave a genuine smile, his white hair thin, though he sported a thick beard that went down to the chest of his white linen robes. He carried a plain staff of ashen wood in one hand and came up to greet the two.

He immediately looked at Valor appraisingly and smiled. "My my, boy, you certainly have gotten big in the year since I've seen you last. Fifteen-years-old and already a hardened fighter... if the tales are to be believed."

The young man looked slightly abashed. "I've only fought goblins in the pocket provinces, Headmaster, hardly a true test of strength for any soldier. It is where all the green recruits are sent to cut their teeth, since goblins are weak, disorganized, and cowardly. A true test is yet to be had."

The old man quickly looked forlorn. "I am afraid you _will_ be tested, lad; thoroughly, and probably sooner than we all might wish."

Lady Aria looked to him. "Have you brought it, Dalton?"

The old man nodded. "I have, Lady Aria." He reached into his robes and brought out a plain wooden box. It fit in one hand, and he held it out to the boy.

Valor accepted it and opened the lid. Within was a small orb of what seemed to be plain glass set within. As soon as he laid eyes upon it, however, the boy felt something heavy settle over him, a kind of invisible weight that immediately produced anxiety. Suddenly grim, he looked up. "What is this orb?"

The old priest leaned upon his staff. "What do you know about the Prophecy of Lukhan, young Valor?"

The boy's brow knit. "You mean the story of the Light Warriors? Not much, only rudiments. It is said that they defeated a great evil thousands of years ago and saved the world. I don't really know how much I believe their tale because despite their victory, the Cataclysms still happened afterward."

Dalton nodded. "Yes, but at least the world existed for the Cataclysms to happen to. It was all part of a cyclical chain of events which have yet to end... or really begin for that matter."

"What do you mean, Dalton?" Valor asked.

The old man nodded grimly. "Take the orb in your hand, lad, and you will catch a glimpse of what I mean."

The boy was suddenly hesitant as he reached for the orb with his free hand. Strange impressions flitted through his mind, and he instinctively knew that taking the object would entail some kind of powerful commitment. If his father had wanted him to have it, however, the boy knew it was his duty to take it.

He grasped the orb and a radiant light suddenly flashed, filling the room. Valor jolted straight as he suddenly seemed to leave his body, thrust out into the world and flying south at incredible speeds, the land blurring beneath him. The vision slowed quickly, overlooking a small range of mountains sticking up south of lowlands. Mountains and valley both were blanketed in a diffuse tawny mist. Valor gained the impression that everything below was somehow... rotten.

Then the boy was suddenly back in his own body, his blue eyes wide as they could go. He held the orb in a death grip, shaking slightly as he came back to himself. He then slumped to his knees, his body suddenly drained of all strength. He was peripherally aware of his mother steadying him as he threatened to fall over. He had to work his tongue in his mouth several times before he could speak, his voice hoarse. "Dalton... what was that?"

Instead of answering the old man looked pained, his head bowed as he intoned: "The earth rots... the seas rage... the wind falters... fire grows cold. Thus will the days of the final debacle be known. Only the Chosen of Light can stop this world death, imbued as they are with the power to revitalize the legendary Crystals from the darkness that strangles them. If the four do not rise, then this world will fall into unswerving chaos; war and madness will ravage the land. All things shall die..."

The boy's eyes widened with realization. "It cannot be..."

The man nodded solemnly. "I am afraid it is, Valor. You are he, the Chosen of Earth. Your father knew this before you were even born and had you trained specifically to take up this role. Nearly two years ago, Vinter and three others, myself included, undertook journeys guided by visions to find the legendary Crystals. Each one of us was granted an orb from them which contains a power unlike any other... yet this power can only be activated by the Chosen. We of the Pact, Valor, met one final time before we sought the Chosen. We had known more or less who they would be since long ago, according to the prophecy of a seer. We split and searched them out. Your father and I had an easy time finding our Chosen. The other two, however... I am not certain, but I believe they will attain their orbs, as is destined. Afterward, the four of you must come together."

Aria helped her son to his feet as his strength returned to him. She looked up with apologetic eyes. "It is true, Valor. Your father confided in me, but I could not tell you of it. He said I must not. He said things must happen a certain way."

The boy suddenly felt a profound mix of emotions. His whole life had been lived in preparation for this moment. He was stunned, gaping at the old priest, suddenly feeling a sense of betrayal that was difficult to quash. It stemmed from feeling like he had been manipulated his whole life by everyone close to him, but he banished it when he realized those involved had made their own sacrifices to see him here at this point to take up such a mantle. His eyes hardened with resolve.

"Very well," he said steadily, "What do I do now?"

His mother pulled away. "Nothing for now, my son. You have one month before you come of age. That is when your father said it will begin. For now we all must act as if nothing is amiss. Forces are moving within the White City, it is plain enough to see." She paused to smile. "And besides... you are to meet the girl your father and I had chosen for your bride."

The boy looked poleaxed. "B-bride? Mother, you cannot be serious! After what I've just learned!"

She put a hand on her son's shoulder. "Valor, you know of her already. She is the daughter of Knight Commander Arlington, your father's lieutenant in the Order of the Sacred Dawn."

The boy thought for a second. "You mean Oster Arlington? He didn't take the title of Grand Master? I figured he would have. Father thought of him as a brother."

"It is because they were such close friends that Oster did not. He does not consider himself worthy of such a title, Valor. Indeed, he is holding the position in reserve for you."

The boy shook his head. "I am not ready to be a knight. I never underwent the formal training."

Dalton stroked his beard. "That is true, young Valor. However, you have had more training than most knight's ever do, and it is nearly universally rumored that they once had an even more powerful role in combat than they do now, so a true knight may not even exist today. The archives at the White Temple contain texts that hint at knights once working with some kind of animal, long thought to be extinct." He paused to smile wryly. "We only know that it was yellow."

"Yellow?" Valor simply shrugged and looked at his mother. "Anyhow, mother, am I to do nothing while all this is going on?"

The Duchess folded her hands down before her with a slight smile. "Of course not, my son. Your regiment has been debriefed on your mission to the pocket provinces by Captain Sargasso, has it not? If so, than you may stay on the manor and continue to train. I will keep you apprised of what happens in court, and you will meet your bride-to-be. This will be sufficient for now."

Dalton nodded. "Your lady mother is right, Valor. Do act naturally and things will fall into place. When the time is right, you will meet the other Warriors of Light, and your quest will begin."

Valor suddenly looked down, a fist clenching at his side. "Do not call me such a thing, Dalton. To be honest, I am not certain how I feel about all this. It is too sudden, destined or not. I will do what must be done, but I am not ready to be called the world's savior."

The old priest bowed respectfully. "Of course, young Valor, I am certain I cannot imagine. I apologize for laying this upon you without preamble. I shouldn't expect anyone to be ready to take up such a burden easily."

His mother bowed as well. "I am also to blame, my son."

The boy unclenched his fist and sighed. "I am not blaming anyone, mother, but I am not ready just the same. I realize that I must become ready within the month. I must prepare myself."

Dalton agreed. "Yes, Valor, wise of you to say. As well, keep the orb close to you at all times; never let it out of your sight. It is your link to your birthright, and contains within it the hope of this world."

The young man had almost forgot he still held it, and opened his hand to peer at it again. He studied it, suddenly seeing a small light whirl within. He blinked and it was gone. He might have imagined it.

Regardless, he suddenly closed his hand in a fist and looked up. "I will be in the armory."


	3. Water

**Water...**

The clouds had parted after yesterday's storm, just enough to let rays of sunlight slant down from the heavens. A chill breeze blew in from the north, reminding all that winter was giving way grudgingly.

The young woman had no mind for the weather, however, sitting as she did on the lip of a white stone fountain, tracing a finger through the cool gray water. Situated in the midst of the temple grounds, the girl was surrounded by a white-stone plaza. Beyond were well-manicured lawns crisscrossed by paths that led to and from various buildings on the school grounds. Many students were out and about, but the girl didn't notice them. She was absorbed in the water as it rippled and waved, ever-cool and serene beneath her touch.

Her long blond hair was ruffled by the wind, her heart-shaped face harboring an absent smile as her bright hazel eyes stared into the depths of the fountain. She wore a simple outfit consisting of a cambric supertunic worn over taut bleached leather breeches, cinched at the waist with a white belt, and knee-high white boots as well. Over it all she wore a white cloak with red triangles embroidered all along the hem...

Her ashen staff lay to the side of the pond, her ashen shortbow and quiver of arrows as well.

The girl's final test was today, the culmination of all she had learned in her nine years as a student of the White Temple, home to the Order of the White Staff, of which she would become an official member after she passed the last test.

However, it was the farthest thing from her mind now. She was thinking back to her old home on the frontier. Her family had consisted of poor homesteaders out in the pocket provinces, a place long plagued by goblins and other foul creatures. She remembered herself as a small child, swimming in the many ponds of the Watery Wood before the Second Goblin War had erupted. It had been so peaceful then, in those serene times as a child, running and playing with her friends. Being taught to swim by her father.

The girl's mother had died of a sickness when she was still an infant and her father had tried to hide his sadness. She herself had been too little to really know how sad she should have been, but she could sense her father's loss and had done her best to help him...

Her father had died, however, when goblins and trolls had come in waves from the Deep Caves and many outlying towns and steads fell to their onslaught. The girl remembered paralytic fear as her father had rushed out with a pitchfork to stop a mob of monsters from breaking into the farmhouse.

He had never come back, but the girl had been saved when a group of men in white armor had charged in, driving the creatures back. A group of people had followed them, all in flowing white robes, armed with bows, staves, and able to call forth lights and sound that healed and protected the white-armored men as they fought.

The girl had cried out for her father, when a kindly-faced man had appeared over her hiding place. He had lifted her up as she cried and held her, taking her away from the house and bringing her to the temple, which was to become her new home. Of course, she had only learned all the details of this later. She was still sad, of course, but she knew it was more important to remember the good times; the things that needed to be remembered. Her parents would always live on if she kept her memories of them close.

The girl came back to herself quickly, however, as she noticed someone standing over her. He was a middle-aged man wearing an outfit similar to hers and holding the trademark crooked white staff at his side. He had a full head of black hair and adjusted a pair of spectacles over his dark eyes. "Sana-Lynn, are you ready?"

Sana-Lynn Atha looked up with a smile and stood. "Of course, Brother Belman."

The man smiled back at her, eye-to-eye, both of them about average height. "Very well, Sana-Lynn, then gather your things and follow me."

The young woman did so, sheathing her ashen bow in a white case that hung across her back beneath the cloak. the quiver she strapped over one shoulder beneath her cloak as well, a slit in it that allowed the white-fletched arrows to be drawn when needed. She then pulled her honey-colored hair back into a tail and tied it with a white ribbon, so that it would not interfere with the protruding arrows. Afterward, she picked up her staff.

As they walked, Brother Belman spoke. "Today is a great day for you, Sana-Lynn. Know that several of the senior clergy are waiting to congratulate you in the Headmaster's study. All that remains is the final test."

The girl nodded. "Yes, Brother, I am excited as well. I have been working hard for years to become the greatest White Mage that I could be."

The man smiled, looking back over his shoulder at her as he walked. "Your diligence has not gone unnoticed, Sana-Lynn. The Headmaster himself has been watching your progress more than all other students. There must be something very special about you."

The girl looked down, slightly abashed. "Well... I don't know if I'm really so special."

"A member of the Order is always special, Sana-Lynn. The power of the Holy that we wield cannot be used by just anyone. Only those chosen by the Guiding Essence can channel the sacred power of Creation." He paused to cough into his fist. "Anyhow... now with the formalities. What does the white of our robes and cloaks signify?"

Sana-Lynn did not hesitate. "Purity... essence of the Holy Aura and Light of Creation; granted to mankind in order to heal and cleanse. We exist to guide those who are lost, to protect those who are weak; these are the strictures of the Order in accordance with the sacred texts and symbolized by our white robes."

Brother Belman nodded. "Very good, and what does the color red upon the robes' hem signify?"

"Sacrifice... as dictated in the writ of the founder, Alexander The Pure of Aramy. A White Mage is to put the well-being of others before herself, even if it means shedding her own blood to do so. We are given the power to protect others and we must pursue this actively if we are to retain the blessings of the Holy."

"Excellent, Sana-Lynn. Now, what is the story of our Order?"

The girl hesitated a bit, trying to summarize all she had learned about the history of the order during its millennia of existence. "The Order of the White Staff was founded as the Order Hospitaler during a thousand year period between the Cataclysm of Tides and the Cataclysm of Storms. After the horrendous floods of the Tides began to recede, the survivors found the world around them utterly devastated and had to start civilization anew. One of the first city-states to rise to prominence was that of Aramy, a seaside town with one of the most renown ports of the age. While many of the other city-states vied with each other over resources or land, the scholars of Aramy built universities and funded expeditions. Explorers of Aramy began to discover the greater world beyond the peninsula awakening the spark of discovery once again."

The girl paused again to think. "Alexander Samar was born the second son of an influential diplomat in the city of Aramy during a year of great tension. This was due to the jealousy of other city-states towards the vast commercial success of Aramy. Because of its powerful navy, Aramy survived many attacks, and this is the time during which Alexander came of age. His older brother became a politician and it was believed that Alexander himself might aspire to study philosophy and science, but war foiled his ambition. Mercenary pirates attacked Aramy while a combined force of other navies curtailed their mighty fleet at sea. The fighting spread into the city, and Alexander's father and brother were killed. Not trained in combat, and with no weapons at hand but a gnarled old staff of ashen wood, Alexander managed to fight off a group of pirates before gathering what he could of a resistance. It was little short of a miracle that the defenders were able to hold out until a white ship came from a foreign land. Having met a diplomat from Aramy, the ship had come seeking trade, but instead came upon a city in flames. The captain, however, was no stranger to combat, naval or otherwise, and the white ship was unlike any other vessel known to exist. Armed with weapons of metal that belched fire, they single-handedly decimated the pirate longships and sunk the galleys of the attacking navy alike. Thus did the war end."

The girl cleared her throat. "After the city was liberated, it was found that only Alexander and his handful of defenders were left alive. Thousands had died, and Alexander had found everything he loved brought to ruin. He thanked the people of the white ship, and him and his followers were taken to their lands beyond the South Sea. During the voyage, Alexander had a revelation. In it, a white light spoke his name and granted him visions of the future where of a just organization that wielded awesome powers would protect and heal those who were pursued by dark forces with a strength borne of purity. In the foreign land, known only as Urai, Alexander was driven by his vision and became a great orator, garnering funds from many wealthy patrons to found the Order Hospitaler, an organization he devoted to protecting the downtrodden and healing the destitute. In time, Alexander returned to Aramy with his family and followers and rebuilt his home. The city became greater than it had ever been before when a new threat arose... that of the Black Art -"

Brother Belman stopped her as they came near the western edge of the campus. "Very good, Sana-Lynn. We are close, and you have obviously learned and retained a great deal. The test of your historical knowledge is duly verified. Now comes your knowledge of mastering the Holy. You are aware of the final challenge, yes?"

Sana-Lynn nodded expressly. "Yes, the Holy Arrow. It is the pinnacle of white magic."

The priest held up one finger. "Yes, the Holy Arrow. Unlike summoning the Holy and using its power to create a healing light or neutralizing a poison, you must now learn to focus the power acutely, binding it to the metal head of an arrow. Such a process is called enchantment and it is how our apothecaries create healing potions by binding the holy power to ordinary water. The Holy Arrow, however, is much more powerful and more difficult to bind, due to its offensive nature. As you know, there are very few such spells within the White Art, and this one is as potent as it is unique. Come; it is time."

The priest continued and Sana-Lynn followed. They walked a white path that led passed decorative gardens and thickets of trees with small ponds in their center. They circumvented the old administrative building, built of heavily worked white stone, and finally wound around a small lake filled with lili-pads and croaking frogs, to come near the western portion of the white wall that separated the grounds from the city without.

A number of archery targets were set-up here near the wall, and Sana-Lynn stopped. She noticed many seven and eight-year students practicing with their archery skills, since it was only in the final years that pupils learned to use the staff, mace and bow. A White Mage's true power was within her; weapons were only an auxiliary means of self-protection and learned only after one gained proficiency with the Holy.

Many of the students stopped shooting as Sana-Lynn came up with Brother Belman. It was well known that the priest administered many of the final tests of the Order, and all the older students knew of the Holy Arrow and were always curious to see it performed. Sana had seen it done herself. She knew performing it correctly would cause the arrowhead to shine brightly and anything struck by it would be consumed in sacred flame.

Stepping off of the path, Sana was led to an open area before an unused target, standing about thirty feet distant. Brother Belman stopped and pointed at the target with his staff. "This will be yours Sana-Lynn. The test begins now. Do not worry about time constraints, you will have all the time you need to perform it this first time - mastery can come afterward. Like all spells, the Holy Arrow will become easier to use as your tie to the Holy deepens."

He stepped back and Sana came up to take the finger-guard from her robes and fit it on her right hand. With it secure, she slung back her cloak. Hazel eyes forward, she reached back with a short tug, and pulled her ashen short-bow out of its case, testing the pull by rote to confirm that it was good and taut.

She reached over her shoulder with her right hand and pulled an arrow from her quiver, notching it to her bow. She did not draw the arrow to sight, however, just held it in place. She would have to summon the power first before she drew since it wasn't known how long it would take to enchant.

Strangely, the girl felt nervous as she noticed students coming around to watch. They stayed at a respectful distance, several teachers among them... but their watching eyes made her uneasy for some reason.

She wasn't certain why. Indeed, she had always been adept at tuning out the world around her to focus on feelings within. This ability had made her a prodigy at spell-casting; many had said so. Her cures were more potent, her ability to repair diseased tissue acute. She had been able to cleanse a lethal poison from a trapper bitten by a blood-vile snake, something even several members of the clergy hadn't been able to do. Now, however, a foreboding overcame her, and the holy power resisted her call.

Then she felt something... dark... swirling about her. It was suddenly everywhere, invisible to sight, but no less palpable. The girl gritted her teeth, trying to fight through, but this dark _something_ built a turmoil within her and she could not focus.

She was suddenly weak and very self-conscious. The watching eyes of her peers suddenly seemed to be mocking her; Brother Belman judging her failure coldly from where he stood. All manner of irrational thoughts entered her and made her afraid.

Her knees weakened and she faltered as these feelings assaulted her.

Then she heard a sound, something small. In the lake behind her, a colorful fish flopped in the water...

That was all.

The girl immediately thought of the ripples in the fountain, flowing, reverberating, and coming together. Indeed, a single action could spread and rebound with ten-fold strength; just one person, just one action.

The world melted away as the girl heard the crashing of waves in her mind. Fear was suddenly crushed, doubt swept away, and the holy power entered her being with its serene warmth.

Her bow had lowered, but it now straightened. Wholly focused, the girl pulled the arrow to sight and the power gathered. Instantly, the arrowhead was enveloped by a sphere of light the size of a fist.

Sana-Lynn fired –

The arrow shot off like a blur, hitting the target dead-center and obliterating it. It continued through to strike a section of the wall behind and suddenly the whole area lit up like the sun. A shockwave blew every bystander to their backsides; Brother Belman was lifted up and flung back into the lake behind.

Only light and wind touched the girl, and she lowered her bow; words coming from her as calm as still-water: "With a strength borne of purity..." she whispered.

As the dust cleared, everyone managed to stand, some helping others up. Many simply gaped at the ten foot wide hole blown through the stone wall. There was no debris, however, it was as if the stone had simply evaporated. The wall that remained above the hole weakened and suddenly collapsed, providing a plume of dust.

Some of the students were gaping at her, but Sana-Lynn did not notice. She merely stood there, feeling the holy power reverberate through her with a gentle hum.

Sopping wet, Brother Belman managed to extricated himself from the lake and trudged up beside the girl. His glasses were askew, but he didn't bother to fix them as he gaped between Sana and the hole in the wall.

The girl suddenly smiled and turned toward him. "Does this mean I pass?" she asked sweetly.

The soaked priest could only manage a slight nod of his head.

Hours later, Sana-Lynn sat anxiously in the waiting room outside of the Headmaster's study. Several members of the senior clergy were inside along with Brother Belman, and the girl could only believe that she was the topic of debate.

She fidgeted on the waiting bench, the only piece of dark wood in the room. Everything else – the relief carved walls, the cornices, the polished floors; it had all been made of ashen lumber.

Sana wondered if she had done something wrong. She could hear raised voices beyond the thick double doors that led into the study.

In all honesty, she was a little afraid. After she had come to her senses, she had realized that no one she had ever witnessed using the Holy Arrow had even done a fraction of damage she had.

She wondered what it all meant.

The girl adjusted her white cloak before leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees, cupping her hands before her lips to think. She could still remember the sense of dread that had entered her, wondering where it had come from. She didn't sense the dark whatever-it-was now... but it had been about to strangle her with fear when she had tried to bind the Holy Arrow. It had been everywhere –

There was a sudden croak and the girl sat up, startled. She looked down beside her and saw a big, sleek green frog with streamline yellow lines down its back. It stared up at her, its throat bulging as it croaked again.

Perplexed at its sudden presence, the girl smiled at it anyhow. "Oh, hello, are you in trouble too?"

The frog simply croaked again, blinking one eye reflexively.

Sana quickly searched her person. "Um, I don't have any tasty bugs on me, but I might have some berries in a pouch somewhere. I don't know if frogs like berries, but I guess it couldn't hurt – " she stopped short as she looked down again.

The frog was gone.

Sana-Lynn frowned, looking all around her for the whereabouts of the frog, but it was nowhere to be found. She continued to search when the double doors suddenly opened and several elders came out, a couple of them giving the girl worried looks. Sister Nathene even scowled at her.

Sana was taken aback, before Brother Belman appeared. He looked a little stricken himself, but managed to smile at her, adjusting his glasses. "The Headmaster will see you now, Sana-Lynn."

Hesitant, the young woman stood and walked into the Headmaster's study, wringing her hands. The room was a tall pentagonal chamber of pale paneling, lined with tall bookshelves along four walls. She came up to stand upon a white carpet lined with red triangles before the huge ashen block of the Headmaster's desk, tidy stacks of reports, finances, and requisition papers sitting behind a row of silver statuettes depicting a number of sea creatures. She had been in here a few times before, and was always fascinated by the middle statuette the most, the one in the likeness of a great sleek water serpent. She seemed to forget where she was for a second, as she studied the silver ornament.

Dalton Samar cleared his throat across the desk, a fatherly smile on his face. "Does Leviathan interest you, Sister Atha?"

The girl snapped back to herself quickly. "I'm sorry, Headmaster, I was just... um..." She bit her lip.

The old priest chuckled and stood from his plain ashen chair, clasping his hands behind him. "She is said to be the Goddess of all sea creatures great and small. That is Leviathan, Guardian of the Seas."

The girl looked down. "I... I'm sorry for what I did to the wall, Headmaster. I suppose I went overboard."

The man nodded, stroking his beard. "Yes, that is what many of the senior clergy thought as well... that you lost control and could have hurt someone. They fear your strength, Sana-Lynn, and you_ are_ inexperienced. Great power combined with inexperience can be dangerous indeed... but I have faith in you all the same, Sister."

Sana-Lynn registered the title for the first time. "Sister? You mean I was accepted?"

Dalton nodded. "Of course, Sana-Lynn. You have exceeded expectations for years, and your connection to the Holy is undeniably potent. You _did_ bind the Holy Arrow after all and passed the final test. Working to fine-tune your control is all you need to do now..." He suddenly paused, looking off. "Unfortunately, you will have the chance to do so in spades."

The girl frowned. "Why is that unfortunate, Headmaster?"

Instead of answering, the old priest looked squarely at the girl, his gray eyes harboring a sadness that perplexed her. "I imagine that in your many studies, you have read the Prophecy of Lukhan, have you not?"

Sana-Lynn thought a bit. "The ancient Warriors of Light who destroyed the primordial demon, Chaos, some five thousand years ago? Yes, I have read it."

The old man stroked his beard some more. "And the legendary Crystals?"

The girl nodded. "It is said that, in the beginning, this world was a lifeless rock adrift in the the void, bereft of life and plagued with sinister spirits of the Abyss. Then, at one time, four gods of light appeared and their power reignited the heart of the dead sun, and brought life and light to the earth. The fiends were all sealed away, and order came to be. For life to flourish, however, the gods had to leave their essence upon the world to maintain the balance of creation. These four essences became the legendary Crystals of the Elements."

The old priest smiled and came around the desk to look up at Sana-Lynn, shorter than she. "I expected no less from you Sana-Lynn. I sense you will undoubtedly be the most learned of the four."

The girl shrugged. "Four what, Headmaster?"

The man slowly went back around his desk. "The four Light Warriors, Sister. You are one of them, the Chosen of Water, and I have a gift for you."

The girl merely gaped as the old priest reached into a drawer in his desk and took out a plain wooden box that fit in the palm of his hand. He set it on the desk and pushed it toward Sana-Lynn. "This belongs to you."

Sana shook her head. "Wait, Headmaster... the four Light Warriors? You can't mean..."

The old man sat. "Yes, Sister Atha, the four are to rise again, chosen by the Crystals. It isn't any part of any of the texts you've studied, but a prophecy learned by myself and a few of my closest friends. I wasn't to reveal it to anyone until the appointed time. That time is now."

The girl was quickly afraid. "I don't understand any of this, Headmaster."

Dalton sighed. "I know, it is sudden. I wish I could have told you long ago, Sana-Lynn. That I must drop this burden in your lap now is something that went against every instinct I had as an instructor, but it was necessary. Absolutely no one but a trusted few can know about this." He paused, tugging at his beard. "Have you felt the darkness, Sana-Lynn? It pervades this city, but is exceedingly difficult to sense despite it. Still, it is a harrowing dread that plagues the mind with fear when it can be sensed. Only a few of the senior clergy were aware of its presence. It's debate was the reason for the shouted words earlier, much more than your display."

Sana-Lynn suddenly shivered. "Yes," she said softly. "I felt it earlier when I tried to bind the Holy Arrow. It was stifling, choking me. I was terribly afraid. I don't even really remember how I fought it off."

The old man looked up, suddenly grinning. "Your resolve, Sana-Lynn, and the power within you, even beyond that of the Holy. They may be linked, these sacred powers, but they are not the same. What I have felt within you is another power, something that reverberates and buffers the Holy, much like waves in the sea. I believe that is the reason for your uncanny strength in using white magic."

The girl suddenly looked a little dizzy and the old priest stood and got her simple ladder back chair from the side of the chamber and brought it over.

Sana sat, and the old priest looked down at her, his face hardening. "I would normally not be one to bring up your past, Sana-Lynn, for I know you have suffered. Still, you must know this. That day when you were but four years of age, the Knights of the Sacred Dawn, and my supporting cadre of White Mages, did not happen upon your farmstead by accident to drive off the goblins. I knew that would happen, and I knew I had to be there to save you. That moment was foretold."

The girl lowered her head, clenching her fists on her knees. Her eyes suddenly began to tear over. "...And my father?"

Dalton turned to profile. "I am sorry, Sana-Lynn, I only knew of you. We were not in time to save your father."

The girl said nothing to that.

The old priest nodded. "I do not expect your forgiveness, Sana-Lynn, for keeping this from you. I did what I had to do to see you here at this point in time. There is so much more at stake than just ourselves." He took a few steps toward the double doors before speaking again. "I will leave you now, so take as much time as you need. When you are ready, you must look at what is in the box. I was granted it in an old temple far to the west of here on an island filled with ruins. After the orb came into my hands, there was a great quake and the island temple sunk beneath the sea. I should not have lived through that experience, except that I was suddenly able to breathe underwater." He said nothing more, leaving the chamber, and pulling the doors shut behind him.

Sana-Lynn sat there for a long time, before she managed to stand. She went up to the desk and reached over the statuette of Leviathan to lift the box. She turned back and opened the lid to see a simple orb of what seemed glass or crystal. Simply gazing at it, Sana suddenly felt an incredible weight settle over her. She instinctively knew that taking the orb would bind her to some kind of contract. It produced within her a sudden anxiety, but she reached for it anyway, tears still leaking from her eyes.

When she grasped the orb, a light flared, purest white. Suddenly she was flying west over the land so fast that it was a blur beneath her. Soon, the vision reached the ocean – and descended sharply, rushing beneath the waves until the world became inky black with the weight of water overhead. There below, she saw a huge building of stone, lit in places with what seemed a blue bioluminescence.

Then she was suddenly back in her body, her hazel eyes wide, her form shaking. She quickly slumped to her knees, weaker than she could ever remember being. It took several minutes for her to gain her strength back, but she did not stand, merely clenching the orb to her breast... and crying silently.


	4. Wind

**Wind...**

The City of Dreams... what a bloody joke.

The nobles could act as uppity as they liked, but that would never change the fact that Cornelia had its seedy underbelly, just like any other city Gantz had ever lived in.

The docks district was a vast industrial ward, filled with manufactories and harbors and warehouses. It was set hard against the River Amathea, which bisected the city's eastern districts. Many abandoned buildings housed strong-arms and gangs that had influence over a certain territory right up until it brushed against a rival's. The authorities left everything alone despite any number of crimes committed, as long as they didn't happen to spill over into the more 'reputable' districts.

The young man just chuckled to himself –

Quietly, it had to be quietly. He couldn't possibly give himself away now; the game had just begun.

Speaking of warehouses, Gantz was in one right now, high up in the rafters where the light of lanterns did not reach. He was also decked in dark clothing which concealed his wolf-lean form, consisting of dark leather breeches, shin-high boots, a black tunic and a dark leather vest. His face, with its streamline features and dark complexion, was concealed beneath a black coif of cloth hiding all but his almond-shaped eyes, and he watched the workers below as they sorted or carried different containers here and there amongst the many piles of goods.

This warehouse was the depository for any number of ill-gotten goods, stored and overseen by the members of a shipping guild with a fairly legitimate front in place – not that anyone was looking too closely when it came to the docks, but just the same.

Gantz figured some rich nobles or merchants headed the guild and probably used this place to store their hard assets for any number of schemes. If the gossip could be believed, Gantz figured the guild-heads used this 'acquired' wealth to gain influence in court for whatever purpose nobles had. Funding other lucrative, but less-than-reputable-and-therefore-best-to-be-done-discretely ventures were also likely.

Gantz could care less. Being free-lance, he worked for whoever shelled out the best pay... and the boy always did get the best pay, the reason being because he was a Master Thief without peer. Of course, payment wasn't always money. The boy had a powerful reputation in the docks, and often times he did jobs for no other reason to add to that reputation. Of course here, infamy could be a double-edged sword – dagger, in his case – and the boy had foiled many a would-be assassin as well.

It all came with the territory. Fortunately for Gantz, he could never be bested in a fight because of two reasons: he never fought fairly, and he was the fastest man alive.

Oh sure, it sounded conceited, and was – he could admit that – but it was also the truth. Fighting fair was for idealistic fools infatuated with old stories of outmoded chivalry – the favorite pretense of nobles – and the boy was seemingly blessed from on high with almost supernatural dexterity and speed. He was no _mere_ thief, he was a Master Thief, and that's all there was to it.

The boy was perfectly still from where he perched. He had lived his whole life with the notion that stealth and secrecy were weapons just as potent as the long-bladed knives he had sheathed over each hip. Of course, he also had smaller blades hidden about his person – contingency was the mother of all preparation – and he wouldn't be caught dead without a weapon of some kind on his person at all times. He slept in varying locations about the docks, always in secluded and secure locations, and he trusted no one, especially his patrons. In the City of Dreams many a would-be career thief tended to live short and brutal lives. Gantz was suspicious and careful, and had survived for so long in this dangerous profession because of his preparation and speed.

So here he was, awaiting the appointed time. He had been casing this place for a while, and had the routine down. It was getting on in the evening and the workers' shift was nearing an end. Afterward, strong-arm guards would come in and patrol the warehouse during the night hours. Gantz knew they were knuckle-dragging types who were underpaid and hardly kept up an ironclad vigil during their stints of duty. As it was, the boy was certain he could sneak pass them all in a bright pink dress with a pair of torches strapped to his head...

But that would be uncomfortable.

From his vantage point, the thief could see most of the warehouse below, though not every nook and cranny. He knew it all well enough, however, where certain guards took their ease, dozing their duty away. He knew which goods were stored where, his goal being the office in the corner of the warehouse. His current patron was highly interested in what was stored in the head clerk's desk under lock and key. Gantz didn't care what it was as long as he was paid the promised price. The delivery point was of his choosing, and the payment would be there or nobody got anything.

Perched as he was, his belly scraping the thick wooden beam, the young man kept very still, having long trained himself to be patient and silent. He could think of far more uncomfortable places than this – his neck stretched on a gallows for one. He could not relax a wink if he wanted to maintain his edge. Being a Master Thief, patience was a virtue as good as Gil itself, and not getting caught was his personal art form.

Finally, the time came, a bell being rung at one end of the warehouse. Workers wiped their brows and set their burdens down, able to keep for another day. Soon enough, they all shuffled toward one end of warehouse and out the broad doors into the docks proper.

The guards came in soon after, large shoulder-thumpers with the look of shaved gorillas – or not shaved in some cases. Regardless, Gantz continued to bide his time until the dozen guards had all taken up their familiar routes so that the thief could see the perfect way to avoid them all at each interval toward his goal.

When the time was right, he slid down from his perch, leaping to the ground without a sound. Amongst a great pile of assorted crates, he moved on catspaws, at one with the shadows. Not unfamiliar with combat, the thief knew well that fighting was to be avoided at all costs during a heist. One person spotting him and raising the alarm meant he had failed and would flee, not risking himself further in pointless battle. Besides, he didn't want gorilla viscera all over his knives. The weapons were really as close to a family as he'd ever had, and he tried to treat them with respect.

Gantz ghosted pass one guard that had paused to scratch his behind. The thief shook his head as he put his back to a barrel, ducking low to look down a corridor made between rows of sacks and various types of chests. He figured there were some foodstuffs in here amongst the treasure. The guild did have a legitimate front after all. A good portion of the merchandise was likely legal commodities squarely in place to fool any cursory inspection by authorities... which would probably never bother. One could make money legally just as well as illegally if one had the financing, know-how, and contacts.

Anyhow, the thief moved down the row between chests, crawling on all fours pass two guards that had stopped to grunt and search each other for fleas – or maybe not, Gantz couldn't see them that well crawling as he was. He moved down, creeping passed chests, barrels, and other containers until he came to a low crate with the lid half removed. He stopped to crouch low and was surprised to find the box contained bottles of Cornelian St. Blanca, a white wine apparently. Gantz didn't know much about wine, but he took a bottle anyway and stuffed it into his small leather pack, strapped closely to his back.

Afterward, the boy raised his head up ever so slightly to peer over a box, seeing a guard moving away from him down a perpendicular corridor between goods. The boy waited several minutes until the big ape turned a corner and then he squeezed gently between boxes and sneaked up the corridor, knowing he had a good three minutes until that guard came around again.

Gantz came up around the corner and suddenly his twin knives were in hand. The creature in a large cage to the side amongst crates had startled him, but didn't itself seem startled.

The white tiger lay in its cage, grooming itself and shaking its big head before it looked at the thief, its sharp green eyes boring into him.

The thief suddenly smiled and saluted the creature before sheathing his knives and continuing on – though he suddenly stopped and looked back...

The tiger was gone. The cage was empty.

The boy shook his head. He had a job to do, so he continued forward.

He neared the office, seeing that it was only a small square made of wooden walls jutting out from the corner of the warehouse itself. A fairly sturdy wooden door greeted the thief, an old cast iron lock fitted in place to secure it. Gantz had to stifle the urge to laugh. The old lock was pitted with rust. A mouse fart could probably dislodge it.

Quickly, Gantz had to hide amidst a pile of goods while the gorilla passed by again, yawning into his burly fist before moving on. Afterward, the boy extracted himself, flexed his fingers, and reaching into the inner recesses of his dark leather vest. With one hand he pulled forth several small metal implements and took a deep breath before beginning his work. As he picked the lock, he kept time in his head, always trying to beat his best record. As it was, he tied with himself, taking off the pathetic excuse for a lock, and opening the office door just enough to slip inside, closing it quickly behind him.

The small space was cramped and ill-lit but tidy. Gantz had enough light to go by though, and quickly went to the large dark wooden desk across the room. He slipped around and searched the drawers until he found the one that was locked. His tools still in hand, he went to work a second time. Simple enough, the drawer opened and the boy found what he was looking for...

And was quickly disappointed.

The correspondence from his patron had specified that the item would be in a box, but Gantz had expected something a little more grand. Instead, what he found was a plain wooden box that fit easily into the palm of one hand. The boy shook his head, scouring the drawer again, but found nothing else of value. No, the plain box must be it. Well, obviously it is what was inside that was valuable, but Gantz had plenty of time for that later.

Now he had to escape.

He placed the plain wooden box in this leather pack and moved up quickly to the door. He opened it just a sliver and peered out to see if the ape was coming back.

He nodded: Good, no gorillas in sight. He slipped out of the office and ghosted down a corridor to the other side of the warehouse where his escape would be made. A tall pile of crates led to a large window with a missing pane. For normal people, the top of that crate pile might take minutes to traverse and anyone doing so would undoubtedly be spotted from below. For Gantz, however, it was just a stepping stone.

He readied himself, replacing his tools in his vest and focusing. Suddenly, he burst into a full run, lean legs pumping. He took a starter hop when near the pile and jumped, far too high, leaping off the top crate and shooting through the window...

Out the window he came in a long arc, as if the air itself buoyed him. He alighted to his feet and came down into a roll, popping up amongst stacks of large shipping crates outside.

He waited several seconds. No hue and cry, no alarm raised. No one had spotted him. He grinned beneath his black coif and took off running at full speed. He ran much faster than anyone should have been able to, even gaining enough momentum to run upon the sides of buildings before leaping upon the roofs of adjacent storehouses. He ran across the broad slanting building tops, clearing the forty feet gaps between them with room to spare. He felt the wind all around him as he ran and again was reminded of the freedom of birds.

He sailed over to another rooftop, the gibbous moon high in the night sky overhead. He headed north toward the market district, but would not enter it. He had time yet before he was to seek the meeting and get his payment. His patron had specified an early hour in the morning for reasons unknown to the thief.

As always, Gantz would secure the location before he ever made contact so he would be there early... But that still gave him a good hour.

He stopped and leaned against a roof fixture to think. He gave a shrug. He supposed he could go to the Greased Knuckle and hang out with his mates for a bit.

Located in an old warehouse in a relatively stable neighborhood, the old tavern was a den of cutthroats, of which the thief frequented when he was apt to be a little more trusting than usual. The place was 'governed' by Bart Knuckle, an old brawler that had never been beaten once in his years of cage fighting. You couldn't _buy_ that kind of street credit, and no one messed with Bart... at least in this part of the docks. The old fighter was savvy, and had become something of a mentor to Gantz over the last few years. The brawler and a small group of somewhat trustworthy brigands were the only ones allowed to occupy the upper floor of the make-shift tavern, and, as it happened, Gantz was one of those few.

Of course, he still kept his back to the wall around these people, but amongst them he found he could almost relax. With his profession, that was something he needed at times... the smallest of respites from his never-ending vigilance.

Regardless, the thief took off, heading toward the Greased Knuckle. With his speed, it took him under ten minutes to reach the roof of the warehouse, and the crowds below and noise within was evident on the lower floors. In the shadows of the roof, Gantz removed his black coif and placed it into his pack. He then took out the bottle of Cornelian St. Blanca and went in through a shattered window on the upper floor.

Without a sound, he slipped into a small storage room, empty of anything but dust and vermin. A large rat scampered away at his coming, but Gantz had come in unnoticed otherwise. A rickety door separated this room from the 'lounge' where Bart and his gang were undoubtedly relaxing.

Smart enough to know he should announce himself to a room of cutthroats before entering, Gantz knocked on the door three times before slipping in.

Five other people occupied the room.

Bart Knuckle was a big man who never wore a shirt. He sat sprawled out on a ruined red couch, his arms spread across its back. The old fighter's head was bald, his nose broken. Indeed, he looked like he had fought a war with his face, his dark eyes beady under a heavy brow. He wore only a pair of frayed breeches cinched with a leather belt. His broad chest and thick arms were heavily muscled, and, as usual, he had an attractive young woman snuggled up next to him.

"Aye, cuss, you finally come to see your ol' uncle Knuckle again, eh? 'Bout time, cuss, ain't seen you in a fortnight. Thought maybe you was getting uppity on me."

Gantz grinned, his dark almond-shaped eyes sharpening. "Good to see you too, old man. You're ugly as ever."

The old brawler just grinned. "Oh, aye, lad, being the lead 'round here means you gotta tussle. Of course, you is always runnin' from fights, being a thief an all. Wouldn't expect you to understand."

Gantz held up a finger. "_Master_ Thief, old man. Emphasis on Master."

Another man across from small rickety table filled with bottles and junk, snorted. He was taller than Gantz, but not a patch on Bart. He had unruly dark hair and wore black clothes head-to-toe. One eye was covered over with a large patch which only partially hid the line of an ink-vine scar that sliced down one side of the man's face. This one's name was Peg-leg, even though he didn't have one. He did remind Gantz of a pirate though... funny, because the thief hated pirates.

Peg-leg grunted. "You keep stealin' from them nobles, Gantz, and they'll send them Royal Knights after you. If that monster Garland gets a hold of you, you can kiss it goodbye."

The thief shook his head. "Nah, I'm small-time outside the docks, Peg. Besides, those knights only care about the war their gonna start with the Dragon to the north. Besides, I ain't causing a ruckus like the Blood Knives were. The knights don't give a damn about me."

Peg-leg nodded. "Aye, those Blood Knives asked for it though. Every gang around here knows to keep to some kind o' code, but those bloody bastards were killing dockworkers in broad daylight, disruptin' business and causing an uproar among the blue bloods. 'Course, the Dark Swords came in and put an end to that right quick. That Garland killed half of them himself, I heard. Afterwards, it all went back to work-a-day, but you piss off the wrong silver spoon, Gantz, and they'll get the knights on you as certain sure."

"Yeah, yeah," Gantz replied with a dismissive wave.

The man just shrugged. "Hey, don't say I never warned you, Gantz."

The boy smiled. "Arghh, me heartie, your concern do bring a tear to me brown-eye."

Everyone laughed except Peg. "I ain't no damn pirate," he mumbled.

A large rotund fellow sat adjacent to Peg-leg, wearing a vest over his coarse linen tunic and breeches. Lenny always had with him a small barrel of lemon-flavored grog. It looked and smelled just like urine, and the greasy man lifted a filled mug towards Gantz in salute. "So, kiddo, how'd your venture go this swell evenin'?"

Gantz folded his arms and leaned back against the wall. "Off without a hitch, Len, how's your pee?"

The rotund fellow blushed. "Damn it, cusser, it ain't piss I'm drinking, its mead. Lemon-flavored mead. Its really good, but ya'll is too snotty to try it... otherwise ya'd like it."

Gantz shook his head. "Just cause it's sterile don't make it good for you, Len."

Everyone chuckled. Lenny just shrugged and took a long pull from his mug o' piss.

Gantz laughed, but kept his peripheral vision on the woman that leaned on the wall just the other side of the door from him. She was the final occupant of the gang and a relatively new addition. Nearly the same height as Gantz, she was strangely pale, yet her eyes were ice-blue and she never seemed to blink. Her hair was a cap of raven black that covered her ears. Gantz wasn't exactly certain why she was up here because she never seemed to talk, and the boy knew that Bart liked to laugh. She wore dark studded leather armor, and twin scimitars strapped to her back.

She had a dark air, this one, and Gantz trusted her least of all. He knew what to look for very well, and he could see she was trained in combat just from the way she stood – likely highly trained. She might be a career thief like Gantz, but the boy doubted it. From all signs, she seemed to him more like an assassin, most likely in the employ of Bart Knuckle. The boy knew his mentor had all kinds of back deals going on; he was more than just the simple thug he seemed.

However, of all the things that Gantz found disconcerting about her, the fact that she had pointed ears made him the most uncomfortable. Oh she hid it very well, but Gantz stayed alive by being acutely observant, and he had noticed, despite her efforts.

Of course, he had kept it to himself. He thought he might have heard something about pointy-eared people once, but it was most likely just some superstition.

Bart looked up. "So, cuss, can you let us see the loot, or is it all cloak-and-dagger like?"

The boy grinned and went up to the dilapidated table. He set the bottle of wine down on the table. "There you go, mates, a little taste of blue blooded refreshment for your dining pleasure."

Bart Knuckle shook his head. "I ain't no lout-brained bum, boy, I know you didn't risk being noticed for a fool bottle of wine. You get something worthwhile or not?"

Gantz leaned against the wall again. "Sorry, old man, top secret."

The strange woman gave Gantz the barest glance when he said that, before she went back to staring at nothing.

The boy sensed a tension in the air all of the sudden, and his hands slid carefully down to rest on the handles of his long knives.

Something was wrong. The woman suddenly straightened and looked towards the staircase that led down to the noisy lower floors. She glanced at Gantz again –

Then she attacked.

The thief had his knives out in less than a blink and the woman's blades rang against his own. She was fast, faster than anyone Gantz had ever fought, coming at him like a whirlwind of steel, saying nothing, her eyes intense.

Steel rang on steel. Lenny was knocked back, spilling his mug with a loud curse. Peg just stood up, unsheathing his rapier and looking baffled, the fight before him like a blur...

Bart Knuckle hadn't moved from the couch.

The assassin came with a thrust of her main-hand sword, then slashed several times with her other. Gantz blocked them all and turned the last strike aside with calculated power. It knocked her off balance just a split-second and Gantz launched a kick into her stomach. She slid back several feet with a grimace, but took up another stance and faced him, her eyes like ice-blue fire. Still, she said nothing.

Bart pointed at the boy with his chin. "You stole something from the wrong person this time, cuss. Wrong thing from the wrong person. I warned ya, cuss, I told ya before, but yer head's just too big. This is how it had to be, cuss. Cause you wouldn't listen, somethin' had to give."

A slow grin spread across the boy's face. He twirled his long knives expertly in his hands before pointing one at the reclined brawler. "This woman isn't enough to take me, old man. Human or not, she's too slow."

A strange look crossed the brawler's face.

Gantz noticed. "I see, so you didn't know about her pointed ears, eh? You are getting old, Bart."

The assassin glared at him, but Gantz just shrugged. "You're quick, missy, but I'm the fastest man alive." To prove it, he sheathed a knife and reached into a hidden pouch faster than anyone could move. The pellet he took out was thrown to the floor and a burst of smoke quickly filled the room.

Everyone started coughing.

When the smoke cleared, the thief was nowhere to be seen...

The young woman at Bart Knuckle's side suddenly screamed. The old brawler had a throwing dagger lodged in his throat, his beady eyes lifeless.

Lenny and Peg-leg looked agape.

The assassin just growled, before glaring at all those present. She moved again, her one blade going through Lenny's face to skewer his brain. The assassin looked back, as Peg-leg came up to thrust with his rapier.

The woman batted the attack aside, going up to the man with inhuman speed. She whirled about, bringing her twin blades around to cut the man's head from his neck. The severed head spun through the air even as Peg's body sagged to its knees, blood spurting from severed veins.

The young woman at Bart's side could only scream, and the assassin quickly produced a throwing dagger. With a flick of her wrist, the dark elf launched it precisely into girl's open mouth, silencing her for good.

Afterward, the assassin kicked open the door to the storage room and looked about. It was empty. All she felt was a gentle breeze of cool night air from a shattered window.

Her jaw clenched. The human thief had done three things before she could even react; pulling the smoke bomb; killing the stooge while the room was concealed; escaping utterly...

No human should be able to do that... not faster than she could herself. These humans were slow, fat, and lazy creatures... but this one was something else.

Regardless, her mistress would not be happy about this at all. Lady Tiam had made very clear that no one was to know of the orb, yet someone had survived who knew of its location, setting up the job and hiring this thief to attain it. It seemed forces were moving all around this city...

The Dark Elf hissed.

Meanwhile, Gantz flew from rooftop to rooftop.

He supposed he had just been betrayed, but, since he never really trusted anyone, it hadn't surprised him a great deal. The distinction between friend and foe was razor-thin in his line of work and real trust could cut too deeply. Still, the boy hadn't seen any sign of this coming.

He suddenly wondered what was in the plain wooden box he had stolen. If it had caused all of this, it must be something important indeed.

For once, the boy let his curiosity get the better of him. He sailed over another rooftop and set his back to the roof fixture, the night almost too quiet. He took the wooden box out of his pack and held it up before him. He opened the lid and strange feelings assaulted him, as he gazed at a palm-sized sphere of crystal that rested within. Just looking at it, the boy felt an overwhelming impulse to hold it, yet he knew doing so would entail something... unalterable.

Still, his fingers itched to hold the bauble, and the boy overrode his caution for once. He grasped the orb and held it out in one hand before him.

Suddenly there was a flash, purest white, and the boy was suddenly flying. Ever upward he went, blasting passed banks of clouds in the night sky. Indeed, he circumnavigated the world in mere minutes, until the sun flared on the horizon and the light of dawn could be seen.

In the pastel luminescence, the vision stopped before a massive floating citadel, its many white towers cracked and crumbling, yet still it was a sight to behold, soaring upon the winds as if it weighed nothing at all.

Within was a plea... a plea for aid...

Suddenly, Gantz found himself back upon the rooftop, night still dominant. He was weak and dizzy, floundering back against the ceiling fixture, his hand sore from its terrific grip on the orb.

He was short of breath, as if he had actually flapped his arms all the way to the other side of the world. Coughing painfully a couple times, he looked up towards the moon, his dark tilted eyes as wide as they would go.

"I am... Chosen... of Wind..."

A flush of nausea gripped him and he fell back against the fixture, quickly losing consciousness. "The Crystal... he needs me..."


	5. And Fire

**And Fire**

She crouched upon the rocky promontory, back-lit by the light of the silver moon.

A storm was coming in from the west and lightning flashed. A long shuddering peel of thunder marched across the heavens seconds later.

The girl's short wiry form was concealed in tattered black robes, which were blown about as she stood. They covered her body completely, her slender hands emerging from bilious sleeves to grip a charred black wooden rod three feet in length. Beneath, she wore a beast-hide tunic and buckskin breeches over sturdy leather sandals laced up to her calves, a hallmark of her tribe. Upon her head was a wide-brimmed hat tapering off to a high point above her head. Her lower face was concealed by the stiff high collar of her black robes, her upper face covered by the strip of a black mask which revealed only her most striking feature...

Her eyes glowed brightly with the eldritch power that swirled within her.

Lightning flared again, and the girl looked down upon the forest below. She smiled wickedly.

The girl could see the gnarled little creatures scurrying about their ramshackle village. They were nothing but filthy vermin, little monsters that had harried her all the way up from her tribal lands in the south. Goblins had never been such a problem for her tribe... not like they were now. There seemed to be more of them than ever. They were nothing more than annoying little insects, and she would step on them _hard_.

It would be gratifying. Her journey had spanned nearly two months, and she was near the so-called 'civilized' lands, where the weak city-dwellers lied to each other and grew fat off of their own conniving.

The girl's lip quivered in anger as she thought about being surrounded by such fools.

Still, the elder had spoken. The stranger had come to the village with the wooden box, dressed somewhat like the girl, with his dark hooded cloak. He had given the box to the elder and then departed. The old shaman had had a vision quickly after. In it, he knew he was to grant the box – and what was in it – to the strongest member of the tribe.

That was her. Only she wielded the power of nature's wrath; only she had kept the tribe safe from all the new dangers rearing up in the land. The shaman had granted her the box and had told her that she must seek out the Chosen of Earth... or all things would end.

That is how she came into possession of the orb. Grasping it had granted her her own vision, where she had flown over the land like a blur, racing toward a black and angry mountain, wreathed in smoke and flame.

With the vision in her mind, the girl's smile deepened and she began to chant softly to herself. Runes of orange flame flared in a nimbus about her, energies both raw and terrible being focused by her will into a ball of writhing incandescence that hovered before her.

The goblins had been a thorn in her side for too long. No one incurred her wrath so and survived. No one.

The little monsters went about their inane business unaware as the girl flung her ball of fire down upon them before calling another. An explosion shattered the night and she could hear their cries...

Good... but she needed more.

She sent another ball of flame down and it blew a tree in half, felling it into the midst of the goblin village. Afterward, she changed spells, and electric blue runes replaced the writhing orange. The girl moved down a rocky path as she called upon the writhing power before flinging forth her hand. A blue-white bolt of energy sizzled from the tips of her fingers, so hot that it melted through bodies and bark alike, setting fires to foliage and searing flesh to ash.

The girl laughed, summoning another lightning bolt. She singled out one frightened goblin, cowering down in a dilapidated hut and flung her devastating magic, incinerating it and three others. She summoned another ball of fire and sent it exploding into a second hut, blasting it to flaming debris.

It wasn't enough... still not enough...

She changed incantations again and cold winds surrounded her. Icy runes appeared and energies cold and blue solidified. She summoned the frosty power, pointing out her targets with her rod and freezing winds coalesced about several goblins, flash-freezing the life out of them, their corpses entombed.

Terrified, the little beasts fell over themselves trying to get away, but the girl was having none of it. With a gesture of her rod, the ice shattered, firing out in arcs before her, shooting through flesh. Goblins howled as they were sliced to ribbons.

Out of their minds with fear, the creatures cowered and cried when sigils of fire surrounded the girl again.

With an outstretched hand, she summoned a cone of flame so hot that the water in plants evaporated as it touched them. Those caught in the spray were seared to ash, the air in their very lungs exploding.

The girl felt the heat, reveled in it, in the cries of terror, in the devastation she wrought. She laughed throatily as she came up to a half-burnt goblin still writhing where it lay. She looked down at it, her glowing eyes ablaze as she stepped down, grinding the creature's ruined face beneath her heel.

"I am the end of you," she growled, quivering, as she slammed her foot down again and again.

Afterward she looked up with a sneer. Nothing was left of the village but a smoldering ruin. She smelled the char and tried to calm her breathing, her hands shaking as they gripped her black rod with white knuckles. It took her a while to calm herself, and she decided she was satiated...

For now.

She walked through the ruin, not bothering to avoid the flames. It did not touch her... the fire. She felt the heat, but nothing more. She used to wonder at the reason for this, but her power was intuitive, a part of her... not like the White Art.

Yes, she had learned her tribe's history well. The White Mages had pushed her people out of civilization, bringing them to ruin and driving them from their ancestral lands. There had been a great war between the two arts, a war that had spanned more than a century.

At the end of it, those of the Black Art had been driven back into the wilderness, exiled from their own city.

It was something Robin Magus could not understand. If many of her people had possessed the awesome power that she wielded now in the distant past, how could they have possibly lost to the weakness of the White Mages, whose magic was said to be impotent lights and nothing more. Just thinking about it built an incredible fury within the girl, and she had to clench her jaw to force the shaking from her hands.

She would never forgive the lesser mages. She would find and destroy them to her last breath, she would blow through whatever defenses they had and burn the air from their lungs! She would freeze them in shards of ice, entomb them in it, flail them with bolts of energy from her very being!

Robin had to stop walking to lean against a tree for a moment. She had to remember her training. It was too easy to lose herself to the rage otherwise. The power within her was a constant threat that she had to reign in. Her strongest emotions were the trigger to awakening it, but she had at all times to maintain a balance lest she lose herself. Her immunity to flame notwithstanding, the eldritch energies would consumer her inside-out should she ever lose control completely.

Ah, but it felt so good to wreak destruction, to revel in crushing weakness all around her, for it was ever-present and she could not abide it.

Perhaps it wasn't such a mystery then, why her people had lost to the lesser mages. They hadn't possessed her control... they let themselves be consumed by the rage within them, the fury, the draw to reduce everything around them to barren ash.

If so, then they had been weak, and had deserved their defeat. Robin was nothing like them, if that had been the case. She had built up her will of iron and forced the raw power to her command. Without guidance, without teaching, she had learned on her own how to use the incredible destructive power of nature, placing it at her beck and call.

All she had to do was remember the balance, and it was hers to do with as she pleased.

Robin sneered. Yes, let one of those lesser mages come before her might and they would quickly discover to their destruction that there was no weakness in her. She would exact her own vengeance, not for history, or her people, but for herself.

Snarling, the girl pushed off the tree and continued through the veiled wood, moonlight coming through only in speckled shadows from the canopy overhead. It was darker down here, but she saw everything well enough. Her eyes glowed with eldritch light and showed her the way.

There was very little, even in deepest night, that her eyes could not see. She moved quickly.

After heading away from the devastation, the silence within the woods became palpable. The girl moved quickly over the uneven terrain, having lived in the wilderness all her life. She circumvented trunks, and ducked under branches, all ready feeling her strength return from the use of her power. She leapt over the exposed roots of old oaks, and scurried through hollows, often running on all fours like a beast when the terrain required it, all the while keeping her senses poised for any incoming threats.

She moved like this for sometime, before stopping to take a rest in a narrow hollow. The ground beneath her sandals was a wet mulch of leaves, and she stopped with her back to the fallen trunk of a massive tree. Her heart beat in her ears, but she kept her breathing regulated, allowing it to slow as her stamina replenished.

The night all around was dark and cool, a breeze blowing through the wall of trees all around the hollow. She knew the wind would be much stronger outside the wood. A flash of lightning illuminated the forest suddenly, causing strange shadows to flicker through the silent wood before another oppressive peel of thunder blasted the sky. Closer now.

The girl got up and moved again, climbing out of the hollow and running low through the trees, dodging passed trunks and underbrush until she suddenly stopped and looked all about. Her head swiveled a few times to confirm her intuition. Yes, it was indeed true, she was being tracked.

This was not the first time. Robin had grown up in a wild land where savage beasts preyed upon men, and one did not survive long unless one learned of all the local hunters and their methods.

The girl moved again, quickly, running up and then nimbly ducking down behind a tree to listen.

There was a wood some miles from her tribe's village where it was known that the local wolf packs had been displaced by larger nastier creatures, often called worgs. Wolves did not hunt humans unless they were starving, but worgs killed anything they could get ahold of. Natural wolves might have died out had it not been for the viciousness of the worgs to often turn on each other. Wolves, therefore, worked together better, and were actually able to hold their own against the larger, albeit less organized, wolf-beasts. Robin had seen this for herself. Another thing that queued her was the fact that worgs sometimes worked with goblins. How such cowardly little runts could bring themselves to capture and raise worgs was a mystery to Robin, but it somehow happened.

Now, the girl was in a forest occupied by at least one goblin village, and so the presence of worgs was not out of the question. Regardless, it was her best guess for now.

Nodding sharply, the girl ran and leapt, grasping a low-hanging branch and pulling herself into an oak. Along its limbs, she moved nimbly, and jumped to another tree, grasping it and then heading upward. She moved from tree to tree much more slowly than along the ground. Hating to do so, she sheathed her rod in a loop on a slender leather belt around her waist under her robes, for it was hindering her climbing too much. She always wished for the rod at hand because it was her focus, enchanted specifically to allow her to channel the power within her into directed bursts of magic. Without that focus at hand, her spells would be nigh-impossible to direct, increasing the probability of them going wild in the process. Still, she needed both hands free to move faster.

The first piercing howl split the night, and a clap of thunder punctuated it.

Robin froze where she was to look down into the night-darkened forest below her. She felt the first drops of rain as lighting flashed, distorting the shadows of the approaching beasts, and making them appear ghostly for the space of an eye-blink. In the following darkness, their large lean forms padded forward, yellow eyes seeming to glow in the night, a wall of them looking up toward the one they hunted in the tree above.

The girl glared back with her own glowing gaze, from where she balanced upon a thick branch and took out her charred black rod. It would hinder her, but she would not be without it now. Only two more trees remained between her and a massive clearing, perhaps even the end of the forest all together. Robin was not familiar with the land this far north, she just knew the White City resided somewhere beyond.

The mage did not bother to chant a spell at this time, for the creature's scattered without a sound, gone before the next flash of lightning.

Robin nodded. Though they were beasts, worgs were not wholly stupid creatures. They could not reach her in the tree and they would not bother to attack her there. No, they would wait until she was beyond the forest, in the open, and then they would surround her and tear her apart.

Or so they thought. She knew them and their nature, they knew not her. They thought her a lone, weak, little human in their domain, but the were wrong. Just the fact they would deign to underestimate her made Robin's lip curl in a snarl. They were so very wrong.

The girl growled like a wolf herself and moved on, awkwardly, with her staff in one hand, but she managed the edge of the forest. She squatted upon a low branch like a hunching beast and readied herself. It would take timing and superb concentration, but the storm provided her a rare opportunity to show her enemies what true power was.

She leapt from the branch into the thick grasses of the plains, coming into a roll. With one hand on her wide-brimmed hat, the girl came to her feet and ran with all her speed before turning to face the edge of the wood, chanting all the while.

The worgs eyes suddenly shown all throughout the tree-line and she figured there were a good twenty beasts altogether. They crept forward slowly, growling, large and terrible with coarse dark fur and lean bodies, muzzles pealed back to reveal oversized fangs as they snapped and snarled.

It was almost too good, and the girl readied herself. A magic circle of blue-white runes, thirty feet in diameter, suddenly appeared to rotate slowly around the mage at its center.

The worgs paused at the sudden appearance of this light, but nothing further happened and they continued to creep up, snapping and growling at their certain prey.

Robin's eyes glowed like balefire, and she did not move from where she stood, holding her rod out parallel to her body in both hands, chanting under her breath. Up above, lightning crawled across the tortured sky, but the thunder had suddenly ceased...

All was silent in the night.

A particularly large worg padded boldly ahead of the others, before crouching low and springing forward, moving like a smudge against the night. Then it entered the edge of runic circle and there was a flash overhead.

A bolt of power lanced from the heavens, and the worg was suddenly flying back through the air to slam against a tree and fall in a smoking pile.

Robin had not moved.

The other worgs hesitated now, as if they were not certain what had happened. Another large worg came up, however, and headed around Robin's side, and the rest split up to circle her.

The mage smiled. _They are merely beast's after all, too stupid to know when they are far outmatched._

The monsters suddenly charged from all sides at her, but Robin did not blink. At the speed of light, all each beast that entered the runic circle died, some struck directly and incinerated, other struck indirectly and flung back by shockwaves of pure power. Attacking as a pack, none had gotten the chance shy-off, all had met their doom. Robin saw their smoldering corpses all around and ended her spell. The runic circle flickered and vanished and suddenly a massive roaring peel of thunder blasted across the sky as if the very air had been holding its breath, pent up for this one monstrous release.

Lightning flailed across the heavens, accompanied by the cacophony of thunder, and a burst of rain suddenly flooded the world below.

The Black Mage lifted her head to the sky as it roared upon all things below, her arms upraised as she howled in raucous laughter. The storm, it seemed to her, laughed with her, the booming enraged guffaw of a dire god.

Afterward, Robin Magus lowered her arms, her glowing eyes ablaze in the night. Even soaked, she turned with a sneer and headed north.


	6. The Black Rose

**The Black Rose**

The flags had just been recently raised over the sight of the battle, signaling the victor.

He had come himself to lead his knights against the clannish skirmishers, instead of relying upon his own force's scouts. The Point of Phemnal had to be retaken, but the King had needed some further convincing before he allowed the Royal Knights to be deployed in force... since such was an open declaration of war.

Yet King Highland had no idea of the true war to be had, the festering war, the moldering war... the war that would not end even as it had yet to begin.

The man shook his head.

He looked down before pulling his enormous black claymore from the berserker's chest, the barbarian clad in bear furs as if to resemble the creatures themselves. As he did so, a swirl of dark red light followed the black blade out, even as festering power consumed the flesh of the fallen barbarian, eating slowly through his chest cavity.

Afterward, the knight stood and turned to look upon the flags that flew over the taken point, one being the blue-and-white quartered flag of Highland, a rampant silver griffon centered upon it. The other was his own personal flag, displaying the sigil of his house. It was a scarlet field bordered in black and bearing a very stylized depiction in its center...

That of a black rose.

The Knight-General gazed upon the sign of his house flying opposite the royal flag, his eyes seeing it clearly through the visor of his enclosed full-helm. It and his armor were of the finest quality, each piece of steel plate enameled black and molded skillfully into the parts of a great demon. The helm sported two large horns protruding from each side of the helm, the pauldrons upon each shoulder resembling the gaping maws of hellhounds with embedded ruby eyes. Bracers became the claws of the demon and armored boots and greaves its taloned feet. Over the armor, he wore the white surcoat that depicted the herald of the Royal Order, a black sword, blade down, centered upon it.

All around him was death.

He thought it was fitting, being surrounded so. Since he had been forcibly awoken by the Fiends, only killing had been able to sate his upwelling rage, which he fought so often to conceal. At many a time, his mind threatened to muddle in a mire of chaos, that he should spout gibberish and become as a beast.

Oh how the four had failed him, yet they had the audacity to expect him to restore them to what they had once been – still failures yes, but less pathetic than they were now...

Not that it would matter.

The man sighed. He had had a chance at a real life before the Fiends. Not knowing what he was legacy to, he had been reborn nigh-on close to mortal, but now it was all for naught.

Surrounded by a ring of black armored knights, he made a gesture with one clawed gauntlet and a captain came up to him to bow.

"Gather the dead and ready them to bury. I'll not have them begin to stink before me, captain."

The man bowed. "Of course, Lord Garland." He then stood and looked up, craning his neck for he was not tall and the Knight-General stood over seven feet. "My Lord, shall I have camp made here, upon the Point. It is the best position to fortify with its view of the surroundings."

The Knight-General nodded. "It is, Captain Hollis, but we will fall back to our previous camp."

The Royal Knight shook his head. "But my Lord, do you mean to leave the Point undefended?"

He nodded. "I do. Now, to your duty, captain."

The man hesitated only a second more before bowing. "As you will, my Lord."

Garland moved off as his knights called in the auxiliary foot to see to the dead. The common pikemen did all the base work, while the lords looked pretty in their armor. Of course, Garland himself would never stoop to doing such common labor, but neither could he truly associate with the petty aristocrats.

No, he was something far more than both... again, not that it mattered.

As the Knight-General moved off, he gritted his teeth at such bitter thoughts, and as he did so, the ancient visions began to surface in the recesses of his mind. The memories were there, vague impressions of power beyond comprehension coursing through a consciousness the likes of which only a god could fully ponder. Yet, in a single instant there was a flash of light – the brightest of whites, radiant and glorious beyond the splendor of all known suns – and then the impressions were no more.

All that monstrous god-like power and yet... undone in a single instant.

The memory caused him to laugh bitterly. _What do they think they can possibly do, the four fools of elements. As I was, with all the power of the dark gods coursing through my body... I could do nothing... undone in a single flash. What am I know but a pathetic remnant of what I once was. Before that light, I would be swept away into bleakest oblivion now. What can _they_ possibly accomplish..._

He already knew the answer, of course. Everyone who had ever studied the fragmented history of the world knew the answer. It had already happened. The Fiends above all should be aware of their fates, since it was laid bare in many tomes of history as the four Cataclysms. Yet, whatever the Fiend's driving notions of revenge, humankind had survived all four debacles and rebuilt civilization each time...

So again, what did it matter? If Garland managed to master Chronomancy, what could they go back and do besides what had already been recorded? The notion of paradox was inherent in the nature of time magic and the history books were already written! History could not be changed because it had already happened! Garland shuddered with anger. They had destroyed any prospects he had preserved for a normal life with their own blind selfishness just so they could be sent back to fail again...

And that light, that omnipotent light of which nothing could stand before.

Oh, he would do it. He would send them back, but not before they had stood before that light and found themselves judged by its power. Then, broken and weak, he would send them back to have their petty revenge in the forms they favored. That was the only way he could see to do it anyhow, and he already knew the result.

Yet they would not stop pestering him until he fulfilled his part of the bargain he had been forced into, as if he should be grateful for being awoken. Oh yes, that is certainly what they seemed to believe he should be, yet they had never bothered to consult him about it.

Now it seemed he had no choice. The mantle of fate had been thrust upon him and there was nothing he could do to change the unchanging. The creature he had been did not exist anywhere but in the past. What he was now was merely a figment of it, still powerful by mortal means yet as nothing to what he had been...

And that blasted light, always in the back of his mind, ending his impressions, a single moment etched into his deepest memory.

They were all doomed to fail, but what did it matter.

So be it. If he was to be the villain, then he would play the role that fate had decreed. It would be his pleasure, if he could show the Fiends just what it was they were up against. If only they knew what he remembered of that unfathomable light, their arrogance would melt away, replaced by that which haunted Garland himself...

Fear.

He sneered within his helm. Lord Lichtenstein, Duke of Dremel and Fiend of Earth; Lord Krekhall, Duke of Himlet and Fiend of Water; Lady Vivalis Tiam, Duchess of Kard and Fiend of Air; and one more...

Garland walked on, heading straight toward the camp with several knights of his honor guard in tow. The final fiend came up to his side, a tall woman in scarlet armor, her crimson eyes visible through the visor. She carried a jeweled falchion in each hand and had four more just like them in her belongings, yet was unable to wield them all in her present form. Her armor was as intricate as Garland's, but sported a serpentine motif. Her full-helm imitated the head of a hooded cobra with sparkling emerald eyes, her pauldrons a mass of entwined blood-red snakes. Gore covered her blades, which she always referred to as fangs.

"Lady Mari, how unfortunate for you to join us," Garland said curtly.

The lady laughed darkly, an edge to her words. "Unlike my lazy kin, who prefer to take you at your word, Lord Garland, I choose to accompany you, to see to it that you are not unduly wasting our time."

Garland noticed his honor guard glancing at each other before snapping back to follow. Very few people dared to speak to him so. He would have preferred if the Fiend of Fire would watch her words where others could hear, but she was not so inclined.

He hated her most of all. "I shall waste whatever I wish, my Lady, and you and your _kin_ will sit your haunches and endure it," he retorted brusquely.

She laughed brazenly again. "Do not think we shall wait forever, Garland. And we are not powerless before you, either. You would do well to remember that."

The Knight-General just grunted contemptuously as they entered the camp and the Lady Mari split off from his entourage, heading toward her crimson and gold pavilion in her own little camp separate from the army's.

The general passed the earthworks and palisades that bristled along the front of the fortified position, heading passed neat horse-lines and ordered rows of black tents where the common soldiers slept. Many a low-born soldier bowed or raised a halberd or spear in salute as the giant man passed, and Garland acknowledged them with a nod. Cheers rose as well, commending Garland on his victory, following him all along the lines until he entered the command tent, his honor guard taking up their posts without as he went into the huge black pavilion marked with his family crest. Once inside, he strode up to a broad circular table of polished ebony wood, filled with maps marked with chess pieces, delineating the disposition of the King's forces within the current theater of operations.

Garland came in and removed his helmet, displaying his broad countenance, his dark eyes encased under a heavy brow, his cheeks like slabs of stone, his lantern jaw shaved, his thin lips grim. His long ink-black hair fell about him in an irrepressible mane, as he set his demonic helm upon the rim of table before the maps.

Three Knights of the Order were across the table from him, having stood from their darkwood chairs at his entrance, giving salutes with fists to chests. Garland turned his frown at them despite their respectful salutes. Officially they were his direct subordinates, each in charge of a facet of the army under him. The truth, however, was that they were lackeys of the Fiends, there to keep an eye on his movements so they could report to their masters. Lady Mari, of course, did not have a representative among them, since she was here in person.

Scout-Commander Ryam Hostler was a short swarthy man with a narrow face and black eyes that seemed to blink constantly. Though Knighted, he wore dark studded leather, as befitting a Scout-Captain, the arc of a bow and fletchings of arrows sticking up from over his back. He was Lord Krekhall's lackey.

The man to his right was Angus Archibald, Knight-Commander of the Order under Garland himself, who oversaw the disposition of the Royal Knights with authority second only to the Knight-General. The Earth Fiend's lickspittle was a barrel-chested monster in black armor, his helmet removed to show his thick square face and beady eyes the color of storms. He harbored a sneer under his thick gray beard, the hair upon his weathered head merely a fringe of gray. He would be an imposing man to any but Garland himself, who stood a head taller, and was broader besides.

The woman on Ryam's left was Kyra Falea, the only Dame within the Royal Order. Female knights were exceedingly rare, but she had a skill with her twin scimitar that very few other knights had with the sword. Her head was covered with a tight cap of raven hair, her ice-colored eyes and pale skin hinting at ancestry that was not of Highland and its denizens. She belonged to Lady Tiam, and Garland suspected things about her that he would keep to himself to use later in the struggle between him and the Fiends.

Ryam Hostler bowed curtly before he spoke. "Congratulations on your victory, Lord Garland. I hear it took less than an hour for your vanguard to finish the dregs after my skirmishes helped funnel them toward your position."

Angus barked a harsh laugh. "Your demon-cursed blade eats through men like paper, Lord Garland. I hear you spared many of our knights glory by killing most the horde yourself."

Garland's frown deepened. "This was a petty foe indeed, Lord Archibald."

The Dame sneered. "Is the entire Dragon Empire so feeble as this, I think not. Your victory is empty, my Lord, for the true test is nigh. With open war more or less declared, the Dragon will send its Dragoons after us, and then we will see if that black blade of yours is truly worth your boasts."

The Knight-General's face hardened further at their galling words. Their masters had infected them with their arrogance, and Garland had to throttle the urge to crush them all, lest his plan be ruined. Instead, he turned his flinty black eyes on the Dark Elf commander. "Dame Falea, are you really so afraid of the Dragon Lancers, I must say I am surprised. If killing fur-clad barbarians is all you can countenance, then I will send you south with your host of pikes to empty the Deep Forest of their insignificant tribes." That insult shut her up, her smooth features pinching as she glared at him in silent outrage.

Garland turned to Angus. "If you are my Knight-Commander, Lord Archibald, then you are beholden to me and my authority as befits a knightly order. Do not think I cannot have you replaced should you try my patience to the brink. The Royal Order will all share in the glory of the campaign as befits their station as elite soldiers." He paused, feeling the dark power throb through the greatsword he had sheathed at his back, its two-handed hilt sticking up over his right shoulder.

Archibald huffed, placing his armored hands on his hips. "An empty threat, Garland –"

With a rasp, Garland had his enormous sword out of its sheath, its huge black blade six feet long and nearly a foot wide at its broadest, swirling with deeply red power as its ever-sharp point tickled the throat of the Knight-Commander. Garland's voice became a soft rumble, a whisper for him, and he knew other's would have to strain to hear it. "_Lord_ Garland to you, lickspittle." He nicked the man's throat through his beard.

Archibald raised his chin slightly. "The Lord Lichtenstein will hear of this."

Garland almost smiled, but the expression was beyond him. "Oh, I do hope so. It will have to be from another source than yourself, however." He snapped his armored fingers with his free hand, and the mere scratch on the man's throat suddenly burned. Angus began to cough, and then clutch at his throat desperately as black lines skittered over his flesh and up into his face. In under a minute, the man liquified into a putrid black puddle, his empty armor falling to clatter upon the ground of the tent. Garland merely sheathed his monstrous sword.

Ryam looked up, his face blanched from watching his fellow knight die. "How dare you! Archibald is a powerful house, you cannot foresee the consequences of this action!"

Garland merely moved his eyes upon the other man and the Scout-Captain flinched. "So, you seemed to imply before that your scouts did all the heavy work, while I and my knights took what was left, Lord Ryam. Unwise, little man, but worry not. I shall grant you a similar chance to van against the Dragon's elite Lancers as well."

That shut his mouth.

The Dame merely sneered at the collapsed armor resting in the black puddle. She looked to Garland. "Good riddance to that fat fop, Lord Garland, but the enemies you have now made do not show the wisdom of a general who knows who he is beholden to."

Garland's face was as stone. "I am beholden to the King, Lady Falea, and you would do well to remember that." The woman did not reply, but outrage was clear on her face. It seemed these so-called Dark Elves were not easily cowed. "Anyhow," he continued, "We will bring our forces back here and allow the Point to be retaken by whatever force the Dragon deems to send in response to our actions."

Falea could not keep silent at that. Her voice was level, though her eyes were ice-blue fire. "We were ordered to take and hold the Point by the King himself, Lord Garland."

His face did not change. "I was ordered to_ take_ the Point, my Lady, and I have done so."

"But we shall not hold it? What purpose is there in this? If the enemy gets ahold of the Point again, a force that actually knows how to garrison a position unlike the fool savages we fought last time, attacking the Point a second time would cause a slaughter of any troops forced to storm it. Is this what you intend... a slaughter?"

Garland did not answer immediately, his lips threatening to twitch upward into a slight grin, though they never quite made it. "I will take the Point a second time. Have no fear of this, my Lady."

The woman suddenly smiled cruelly. "With no regard to your men's lives. They are loyal to you, Garland, and you would play upon that loyalty." She stood back, folding her armored arms. "Interesting..."

Scout-Captain Ryam looked ill, though he found the courage to speak again. "I will not lead my scouts into a slaughter." Then he hurried around the table as if to pass Garland.

The giant knight stopped him with large armored hand on his shoulder. "Should you think to take your forces out of my theater when they are needed, Lord Ryam, I will make certain the King learns of your desertion with a most unsavory eloquence. Your lands and wealth will be forfeit, your family disgraced. Think on it, my Lord, and be very careful to whom you speak about what transpired here." He removed his hand, noticing the sickening look on the shorter man's face as he scurried out the pavilion.

The Dame was soon ready to take her leave, moving passed Garland, before the man brought her up short. "Lady Falea, please see to the disposition of your pikes and ready them to move back. Spread the word amongst the army that it is to be ready to mobilize."

She stopped and half-turned at the entry flaps, piercing him with one ice-blue eye. His back was turned to her, and he did not deign to face her. "To where will we head, Lord Garland?"

"To the east, toward the ruins."

The woman's surprise entered her dark voice. "But that is two days away from the Point, my Lord, what do you hope to accomplish by retreating so far?"

Garland did turn then, his stone-hard countenance focusing down on the ghostly pale woman. "Never you mind, Lady Falea. That is my order."

The woman nodded, a slight smile touching her lips. "As you wish, my Lord, to the Temple of Fiends it is."


	7. Council of Darkness

**Council of Darkness**

"How dare he!" King Highland roared, slamming a fist on the arm of his chair.

The private council chamber was a large dome of white stone with a high-arched ceiling. All about the walls were tapestries depicting the coat-of-arms of the great houses of Highland Kingdom. A large circular darkwood table, carved and gilded within an inch of its life, sat in the center of the room, four other people occupying high-backed chairs around it to witness the King's wrath.

"Oh, I am afraid it is quite true, Majesty," The Lady General Mari announced, her armored fingers steepled as she sat back in her chair. "He has left the Point undefended and fallen back to allow it to be retaken."

Across from her, Lord Lichtenstein frowned. He was a gaunt pale man in flowing black robes, tall and spare with dark sunken eyes. His voice had an eerily hollow quality to it, like he was speaking within a cave. "Garland would not dare oppose his Majesty so blatantly like this."

The woman's red eyes flashed. "Oh, he has dared, Lichtenstein. He left the Point defenseless deliberately after having taken it without hardly any losses at all."

Lady Vivalis Tiam laughed throatily. A beautiful voluptuous woman with sparkling blue eyes and long blond hair, she did not wear much at all, merely a clinging diaphanous dress. "He means to taunt us, the fool. Does he not understand that we are the source of his power?"

Lord Krekhall paused to look up from his side of roasted beef. A large fleshy man, he growled while wiping a bilious blue sleeve across his double chins. He barely fit in the high-backed chair he sat in, folds of himself spilling over the side. As he talked, he sprayed spittle and bits of food about him. "I cannot believe his impudence! His House was destitute before we found him years ago. He would have nothing without us!"

Lady Mari flashed a wicked smile. "Oh, indeed, Krekhall." Her wicked red gaze shifted toward the King. "What would you have us do about this, Sire?"

The ruler of Cornelia and all of Highland was nearing fifty, but looked much older all of the sudden. He wore the white-and-blue robes of his station, along with a royal purple cape lined in ermine cross his shoulders. A heavy jewel-studded crown of gold covered his brow, keeping back his shoulder-length hair of graying brown.

He sighed deeply at the question, and once again, doubts assailed his mind. He didn't remember the last time he had not been mired with doubts. For many years it seemed he was losing himself, his thoughts muddled, so uncertain of the righteous path he had once thought he walked as a ruler. For a while now, however, everyone he had once trusted was betraying every honor he had bestowed upon them. It had begun with his cousin, Vinter Loftlan nearly two years ago, and now it was Garland, a great and honorable knight whom the King had long thought of as the son he had never had.

And now this, especially with the ever-present threat of invasion from the Dragon Empire.

It stoked the King's anger to a boil. He looked up. "We must wrench the army from Garland's influence, before he gets them all slaughtered with his treacherous actions, and we are left defenseless." He looked to Mari. "My Lady, you are a commander of high rank, you should be sufficient to do this."

The woman smiled with a slight nod, though it never quite reached her scarlet eyes. "I am flattered that you think me so persuasive, Majesty, but the truth is that Garland has the love of the knights and common soldiers alike, while I am... not so popular. It will take more than my authority alone to dislodge the men from his schemes."

Of course, Highland knew as much. He suddenly pinched the bridge of his nose, as a pain shot through his head. "Yes, of course." He paused. "It is my fault, this is. I have given him so much over the years that his influence amongst the court and the common is nearly ironclad."

Lady Vivalis swirled a fingertip around the rim of a crystal glass of wine, her sapphire eyes glancing over it at the King. "And to think how he has repaid such generosity, Majesty."

A surge of anger made the ruler's head pound more painfully. He slammed a fist down on the chair again before looking to the Lady Mari. "Very well, General! I will send my daughter with you on my behalf."

Mari arched an eyebrow with the hint of a grin. "Princess Sarah, Majesty? Are you certain that is wise?"

The King rubbed his head. He truly did not wish to send his daughter, but he could not go himself, not with so much to do before the Dragon descended upon them all. "Yes, I will grant her my scepter, the symbol of royal authority, and she will be instructed to make clear that any soldier that does not return to Cornelia forthwith will be in gross dereliction of duty and branded a deserter."

Lichtenstein nodded gravely. "Yes, Majesty, that will be most effective. Even Garland cannot be so much a fool as to ignore the word of your daughter."

Krekhall stripped the meat off a turkey leg, sucking at his fat fingers. "It should do fine, Sire, unless Garland has lost all control of his senses."

Knowing what that entailed, the other three Fiends glared at him. He attacked a fillet of blood fish, however, and didn't notice their stares.

The King didn't notice either, rubbing futilely at his temples. "With this latest disaster, it appears he may have done just that, Lord Duke." He paused, pushing himself warily from his chair. "If there is no other business, I will take my leave. There is much to do yet, and I am relying on all of you for support."

Lichtenstein stood and bowed formally. "We shall grant you all of our strength in support against the dreaded Dragon, Sire, have no fear of this."

The King hesitated for a second, seeming to wrestle with himself before shaking his head vehemently and leaving the room.

After the heavy wooden doors closed behind him, the Lich slammed a skeletal hand down on the table, his voice a dark and hollow rage. "Kraken, you fool! Please use the piece of your brain that is not blubber every now and then!"

The fat man's skin took on a rubbery sheen as his face flushed. He flung the rest of the fillet away. "How dare you speak to me thus, you worm-wreathed corpse!" He then picked up a ham hock and prepared to bite into it.

With a flick of her wrist, Lady Tiam sent a blast of wind to knock the food from his grasp, before she stood, wrath twisting her sensuous body. "You bloated lump of sushi, the King still doubts us as it is, even with the prevailing darkness twisting his will to ours. Say the wrong thing at the wrong time, and he can throw off our so carefully placed fetters and ruin everything!"

The Fiend of Water growled. "You whine too much! Everything is going according to plan." He picked up a side of beef ribs with a grasping tentacle, but suddenly cried out in pain.

A bejeweled falchion had been struck through it, pinning it to the table. Another tentacle shot out, but it was skewered as well. Two more tried, but were also skewered, as Marilith suddenly stood over the Water Fiend, her wicked eyes burning. The snakes of her hair nipped at Kraken's rubbery face. "_You_ will watch your tongue or _I_ will cut it out."

Even in his pain, the Water Fiend opened his gaping maw in defiance. "You, Marilith? You of all people should know better than to attack me." His eyes suddenly glowed a malevolent blue.

The Lich floated up. "Enough of this, now! We must discover Garland's intentions or everything we have worked for will be for naught." He looked over at the Fiend of Air.

Tiamat gave a delighted grin. "Oh, not to worry, Lichtenstein. I will contact my little birds with all speed, and we will have word by tomorrow's dawn."

The Lich nodded. "Very well." He looked down with empty sockets at the two other Fiends beneath him, still poised as if to cause the Fifth Cataclysm then and there. "You two, assume your human guises and remember your goals. I'll not have you ruin mine with your squabbling."

With one final blazing glare, Marilith wrenched her blades from the Kraken's tentacles and slowly shrunk down into her armored human form. Kraken shrunk as well, as much as he could anyway, wincing at the wounds, which healed quickly enough with the weapons gone.

Afterward, he went back to his ribs.


	8. Tormented Seas, Troubled Earth

**Tormented Seas, Troubled Earth**

_Who doth rule the sea...?_

Sana-Lynn's hazel eyes shot open and the girl gave a shuddering breath. All around her were her private quarters, a large bed chamber and sitting room, pale paneled walls all about. She had finished moving in from her student's quarters just the day before, this larger, more lavish living space just one of the many benefits of being a full member of the Order of the White Staff.

Still, its wood paneling and ornate tapestries were lost on the girl as she sat up in bed in a simple linen shift, putting a hand to her clammy head.

"Who doth rule the sea..." she whispered. The dream came nearly every night now, having started that first night after she had grasped the orb, given her by the Headmaster. In it, she was on a ship in the midst of mighty storm at sea. Three others were on the ship with her, but they were faceless shadows. Lightning flashed overhead and there were two monstrous roars that suddenly reared up from the depths, displacing water in huge tumbling waves that threatened to overturn the vessel.

From the railing she watched as two distant creatures, both gargantuan, battled each other.

Fear and agony echoed across the maelstrom, screams of outrage and terror washing over the girl as sea-spray pelted her, causing her to shiver and quail –

Until a massive tentacle crashed down upon the ship, and darkness overcame all.

Sana-Lynn gulped a suddenly dry throat and tossed the comforter off of her, swiveling her legs over the side of the bed as she tried to calm her racing heart.

A sudden croak startled her, and the girl looked to her side. The big sleek green frog was there, staring at her with its amphibian eyes.

Sana wiped a shaky hand across her forehead. "What are you, creature?"

The frog said nothing, merely croaking again.

"_I am the Herald..." _came the gentlest of whispers.

Startled, Sana stood and looked all about. The voice had not come from the frog, but seemingly from all around. The girl focused back at the foot of the bed. The frog was gone.

Upwelling fear caused the girl's eyes to tear over as she slumped to the floor. "What is happening to me?"

"_Do not fear, child, but embrace that which is your right by birth..."_

Sana shook her head, her long blond hair swaying. "I never wanted this destiny... this burden. Please, just leave me be."

"_Regardless of your desires, it is destiny which is in need of you, child..."_

There was a sudden knock at her chamber door. "Sister Atha, are you decent?" It was Brother Belman.

The girl looked all around still unable to find the frog. She glanced at the door and forced herself to her feet. It was difficult to keep the shaking from her voice. "Please, Brother, a moment."

The man's voice came back reassuring. "Please, take all the time you need, Sister."

Sana could do no less. She went to the wash room adjacent her sitting room and took a quick soak in the big copper tub that had been filled earlier. The water was cold, having not been changed since yesterday when the girl had not taken her soak, for she had been in no mood for anything then. Quickly, she got out and dried herself on a plush white towel before heading back to her bedchamber. An ashen wardrobe held her clothing and she got swiftly into her white uniform. Her old cloak had been taken however, for she was to have a replacement for her ascension into the clergy. Her blond hair still wet, she brushed it only a few dozen times before going back out to open the door to her chamber.

There Brother Belman stood, adjusting his spectacles. "Ah, Sister Atha, how are you this fine morning?"

The girl looked down. "I am well enough, Brother."

The weariness in her voice caught him off guard. "Is something the matter, Sister?"

Of course, Belman had been told nothing by the Headmaster. Maybe only Sana and he were the only two in the entire city who knew of her destiny.

Belman looked a little doubtful, but shook his head, and nodded toward a very young boy in a plain white robe who held out a folded cloak of durable wool.

The Brother nodded. "This is your new cloak, Sana-Lynn, one made specifically for weathering the elements and travel. It seems the Headmaster has some kind of task in mind for you. He wishes to meet with you in the Inner Sanctum of the White Temple, a right reserved only for the high clergy. I must admit I was surprised, since you are so newly raised." He smiled. "But you are the best student I've ever taught, so it wasn't too shocking."

The girl found it hard to take his praise to heart. She was still too shaken. "I thank you, Brother."

Afterward, she took the cloak from the small boy after which Brother Belman smiled at the lad and told him to run along to his studies. Sana wrapped the cloak about her, a heavier mantle than she was used to. The material was not so pristinely white as the ornamental cloaks, but it still had the red triangles embroidered all along the hem.

Once fitted, the girl raised the hood to conceal as much of her face as possible. She felt the need for solitude and merely gestured for Brother Belman to guide her to the Inner Sanctum once she was ready. He still seemed put off by her lack of enthusiasm, but made no word of it.

They passed from the east wing, reserved for the clergy's quarters, though a hall over white-and-red tiled floors, before coming into the temple proper. Once there, high walls lined with statues of robed figures and great murals depicting epic scenes and ancient deeds came and went. Passed classrooms and through libraries they went, bypassing knots of young students congregating in the halls before the heavy bells tolled, announcing that classes were to resume soon.

Just a short time ago, that had been Sana's life as well, and she had loved it. Now, all she had were doubts.

Soon enough, the two stood before a stretch of wall before a hanging tapestry depicting a rampant silver chimera on a field of white. The halls to each side of the tapestry were empty, as classes had been called, but this was indeed still in the middle of the school proper, and Sana was confused. "Why do we stop here, Brother?"

Belman gave a slight smile and gestured toward the tapestry. "Sister Atha, this is the entrance to the Inner Sanctum, can you not see it?"

"All I see is a tapestry."

The man clasped his hands behind his back. "Ahh, but you must look closer, Sister. Raised as you are, you now have the ability to see it, if not to enter. No, the enchantment on the portal is very specific of who is allowed to enter the Inner Sanctum. It, the spell itself, is who chooses who is of the High Clergy, and not a Deliberate Council as all the uninitiated are told. The Holy itself guards what is sacred to it, and only those with certain inner traits are allowed to enter the sanctum."

Sana looked to him. "Can you not enter, Brother?"

The man smiled, adjusting his spectacles. "I cannot, I am rebuffed gently by a Shield that no mortal can dispel." He paused to chuckle. "But I do not envy any of the High Clergy for I suspect they carry a burden that I myself would not be strong enough to bare. I can see the portal, however. Can you?"

A burden, Belman said. She already carried one now, one she had not known she had carried, having done so ever since she was born. Her hazel eyes looking up, Sana saw that the tapestry was gone, a swirling portal of bright white light in its place. Suddenly, she hardened her gaze and went forward without hesitation...

No Shield rebuffed her.

For a time, she floated in whiteness, soothing and warm, like the Holy flowing through her when she summoned it. She was not aware of her body here, of her burdens. All she was was the warmth that swirled and flowed about her like eddies in a river, bringing her on with them as they flowed gently toward some end.

"Sister Atha, I am glad you are here," Dalton Samar announced simply.

The girl opened her hazel eyes and stood in the midst of a great cavernous chamber, far too large to be sitting in the center of the White Temple. It was perhaps a square mile in size, with walls that harbored enormous stained-glass windows that all depicted a stylized woman in elaborate white robes.

"It is appropriate that you have your hood up, Sana-Lynn. In doing so, you look an awfully lot like her," the old man announced, gesturing toward an enormous statue of white marble that stood centered in the mighty camber.

Sana looked up and up at the great statue before her. The woman it depicted stood in dramatic pose, flowing white robes wreathing her as is if she were encompassed by winds, holding up an intricate white staff topped with a shard of blue marble above her hooded head. Two pairs of wings spread from her back, the whole statue carved with a level of detail that seemed almost more alive than Sana herself was.

A truly wondrous look was on the Headmaster's face, as he gazed upon the statue. "If the Holy ever had a material form, this is what I always imagined it would be."

Sana looked down suddenly and tears came to her eyes, hidden by the hood. "That is a goddess, Headmaster. It doesn't look anything like me."

Dalton looked doubtful. "This is no goddess, Sister Atha, and though the wings may be an embellishment, the rest is probably close enough to the real thing. Not in actual size, of course."

The girl looked over at him, her hood swaying. "What do you mean, Headmaster?"

The old man gave her with a paternal smile. "Please, Sana-Lynn, pull back your hood unashamed of your tears, of the fears that induce them. Pull back your hood and look upon the White Wizard."

Sana gasped in shock. "It cannot be... the one of legend..."

"Indeed, Sana-Lynn," The Headmaster confirmed.

In awe, the young woman pulled back her hood, her tears forgotten as she gazed upon the statue of the legendary Light Warrior, Chosen of Water... as she had become.

As she gazed upon it, Dalton spoke softly beside her: "I cannot know your pain, Sana-Lynn, but I will tell you this. There is more strength in you than anyone can possibly comprehend. So please, face your pain and your fear with a true heart, and one day there will be no evil, no matter how great, that will be able to look upon you without knowing its end has come."

The girl looked down, more hot tears filling her eyes, before she suddenly leaned against the old man, crying softly. The Headmaster patted her back soothingly, until she managed to pull away, before looking up at her with a kind smile. "Now we must go, Sana-Lynn, into the city."

The girl wiped a final tear from her eye. "What for, Headmaster?"

Worry entered his eyes, though he smiled. "Why, to meet the Chosen of Earth, Sana Lynn."

Shocked again, the girl could only nod.

**IIIIIIIIII**

Morning light wafted in through the high windows, much of it glinting off racks of weaponry where they stood against the walls of the training hall. Swords, axes, flails, pole-arms, and warhammers of every make and kind stood in those racks, and more weapons besides.

Valor Loftlan stood in plain armor: sabatons and greaves over his feet and shins, an armored fauld covering his thighs and waist, protruding down from his breastplate, which was unadorned steel. Steel-backed gauntlets covered his hands and bracers his forearms, unworked pauldrons upon his shoulders, and an open-faced casque upon his head. In his right hand was gripped a plain steel longsword, while in his left was held a round shield, little larger than a buckler, but with a steel face that the rampant black bull of House Loftlan was painted upon.

Across from the young man was a solid fellow in the white-enameled full-plate of a Knight of the Sacred Dawn. The old soldier smiled. "You're doing quite well, young Valor, exceptionally so for one who has never undergone a knight's formal training. Still, you are troubled, I can see it in your face, feel it in your blows. You cannot allow such things upon the field of battle." The man shifted his elaborate broadsword as he went into a guarded stance, bringing up his kite shield with the sunburst emblazoned upon it.

The boy nodded. "Yes, I thank you, Sir Arlington. I know I lack focus, and it is something I must work on."

"Does something gnaw at you, lad?"

Despite his judgement, Valor did not tell this old family friend what troubled him. His mother had warned him that he must exercise extreme caution with divulging the fact that he was Chosen of the Crystals, and none, not even close friends, could be told. He looked down. "I just... I just wonder what my father would have to say about things, now."

"Have no fear, boy, his pride in you was always immense, and I doubt that would change could he witness today what a wondrous Fighter you've become. I have no doubt of it in my soul of souls, lad, that it would be so. Now, have at you – " he bellowed, charging straight in to thrust with his broadsword. They were of equal height, but the old knight was broader, better armored, and had years more experience in combat besides. Still, Valor sidestepped the attack and whirled, bringing his longsword about in a resounding blow, though the old knight battered it aside with his shield, counterattacking. Their blades rang several times as each parried and countered, maneuvered, and struck again.

Wearing less armor, Valor had to guard himself more, but he was not put entirely on the defensive due to an increase in speed over the knight. He used this advantage after blocking another thrust to spin down and sweep his legs through Arlington's own, tripping the man and dumping him to his back. The fully armored knight fell hard, the wind knocked from him. When he recovered, he looked up to see the point of Valor's longsword hovering over his throat, though the boy himself wore no triumph on his face.

The old knight smiled through his thick red mustaches streaked with gray. "An excellent tactic, lad. A fully armored man is little more than an overturned turtle on his back. The weight of full-plate precludes getting up without much difficulty, a grave disadvantage in a melee."

Valor nodded, helping the old knight clamber up to his feet again.

There came polite clapping from across the room and the two men looked over toward the broad archway that led to and from the rest of Loftlan Manor.

Aria Brigada Loftlan stood there quite poised in an elaborate white dress, with black-work embroidery heavy up the sleeves, her long argent hair done up in an elaborate style this day, with bangs covering one of her sapphire eyes. However, she was not the one clapping. That came from the younger, slightly shorter woman next to her.

Oster Arlington smiled. "Ah, Erin, so you have come."

The young woman bowed as Aria presented the girl to her son. "Valor, I would like you to meet Erin Hayata Arlington of the House Arlington, daughter of Oster and Seena."

Valor was impressed with the girl's beauty, for she was that, wearing a black dress covered in golden scroll-work, her long darkly red hair framing a heart-shaped face and flowing down the front of her dress. Her flawless skin was like ivory and her large emerald eyes sparkled as she smiled at him with a curtsey.

The young man immediately came forward a few steps as he removed his helmet to reveal his shoulder-length brown hair with argent highlights, before executing a formal bow. He had been training with Oster only two hours, not even a start to his normal daily regimen and was not sweating. Still, he could not help but feel under-dressed in his plain armor.

The girl examined him approvingly. "You cut quite the dashing figure, Lord Loftlan."

The boy's face heated, especially as he discovered he had no training in this area. "You... uh... are quite beautiful, Lady Arlington." It sounded clumsy to him, but the girl smiled more deeply. He looked to Aria. "Mother, you could have waited until I was more presentable."

His mother gave a slight shrug. "I had no intention of waiting another seven hours until you were finished with your regimen, my son."

Erin examined him again. "You fight amazingly well, Lord Loftlan. My father has won any number of honors in tournaments and battle alike, yet you best him this day."

Oster clapped a hand on the boy's pauldron. "Aye, lad, you have a true greatness in you, a born warrior. You can use footwork I've never even heard of, and your strength is palpable."

Erin nodded graciously in agreement. "Indeed, you seem very strong, my Lord."

The boy tried to fight down the heat that suffused his face, knowing he was making a fool of himself with his lack of control. "I thank you, my Lady." Immediately, he felt stupid. He should have complemented her as well.

Aria came forward enough to be able to grace them all with her smile. "Please, honored guests, leave my son to get freshened up, and we may have brunch out amongst the gardens. Spring is finally starting to overcome winter and the flowers are blooming."

Erin cordially shook her head with an upraised hand. "No, please, I could not possibly interrupt Lord Valor's routine. Please, allow your son to finish, Duchess, and I and my father would be most happy to come for dinner this very night, if it pleases you."

Aria bowed her head respectfully. "But of course, my Lady, as you wish."

Oster came up to his daughter, running an armored hand through his mane of dark reddish hair. He looked to Valor. "Continue your training, lad. I doubt there is a knight amongst the court that could best you in single combat. Lord Garland could challenge you, perhaps, but his way is not the way of a true knight..." He paused, suddenly hesitant. He glanced at Aria and Valor both. "The court is not what it once was. Come, daughter."

The girl gave one last appraising look at Valor before gliding off after her father.

After they were gone, Valor came up to his mother's side. "Are you certain we should not tell them, mother? I feel wrong keeping it from my father's best friend, and my bride-to-be."

His mother gave him an approving gaze. "You feel the weight of this burden most keenly, my son."

Valor looked down. "I do, and the weight has only grown."

His mother nodded in commiseration. "We do not tell them to protect them, my son. Knowledge is power, and a dangerous power at that, especially considering this knowledge. You see, my son, it is not because we don't trust them, it is because they would then share your burden. Would you wish that upon them?"

The boy's face became resolute. "Never."

"Then train, Valor, as your father wished, as you know you must."

The boy nodded and his mother stepped away. Several mercenary captains hired to drill him in weaponry would come in an hour, and he would use the time until then to practice what he had learned of unarmed combat from the Monks of the Unrelenting Fist.

Five hours passed, and Valor found himself drilling with a halberd under the gray gaze of a lean grizzled captain called Dulgren, a mute due to the heavy scar around his neck that had nearly killed him long ago. Heavy scars crossed his face as well, taking bits from his hooked nose. He had been the one to train Valor extensively on how to use the reach of a polearm to its fullest advantage against many types of foes.

The boy did so until his mother appeared in the archway suddenly. "Captain Dulgren, would you excuse us, please." The man did not hesitate, doing so with a respectful nod before leaving the armory. Afterword, Aria pulled the doors closed as her son wiped sweat from his brow.

She came up to him urgently, speaking low despite the chamber being empty. "Valor, the Headmaster has arrived with a guest you must meet as soon as you are able. They await in the parlor."

"Is a bath being drawn, mother?"

The duchess nodded. "As we speak, my son."

"Very well, I shall be there as soon as I am decent."

Aria simply nodded and left the chamber.

When she was gone, Valor sighed heavily.

He removed his armor, and went to his apartments on the top floor. He bathed quickly in the great bronze tub and dried himself. Afterward, he dressed in a doublet and snug leather pantaloons, fitting plain black boots on his feet before leaving for the parlor. He would have to dress more elaborately tonight, but for now, he just wanted to be comfortable.

He met his mother in the parlor, and there was Dalton Samar, the short wiry Headmaster draped in white robes as always, carrying his plain ashen staff. A sudden and most certain weight settled over the boy, as Valor looked to the white-robed and hooded figure that stood next to the small Headmaster. This weight grew as she pulled back her hood and a pretty girl with long blond hair looked back at him with troubled hazel eyes.

A strange and wondrous calm flowed through them both as their gazes met.

The young man suddenly felt heavy and light together as a flash before him became the Orb of Earth that he had had tucked in a pouch around his neck, never without. He saw himself fly across the world again, but he knew he was seeing the past this time, and his spirit soon stood before a huge plinth of yellow crystal, overflowing with the power of life itself.

At the same time, Sana-Lynn Atha felt like she was ethereal as the Orb of Water suddenly hovered before her in instead of being tucked into the belt pouch she was never without. She traveled similarly into the past until her spirit stood before a mighty shard of sapphire crystal, pulsing with blue light, its life-giving power flowing from it in waves.

_Some strength we have found in your meeting._

_Some hope we have gained..._

_To become again as we once were, the guardians of all things..._

_The preservers of all life._

In bright flashes of light, the orbs disappeared back into their respective containers and the Chosen of Earth and the Chosen of Water were unable to be introduced as the strength left their bodies completely.

Both collapsed to the floor.


	9. Brazen Wind, Raging Flame

**Brazen Wind, Raging Flame**

It had been a good idea to lay low after he had taken the orb.

Gantz knew something had changed, something profound. He hadn't met any of his contacts in the last few weeks, or gone to any of his hideouts that anyone but he alone knew of in the docks. Not being seen in the usual places would put some off, especially his fences and the people he did the odd job for every now and then, but Gantz knew that was how it had to be.

Danger was coming, he could sense it. Since taking the orb, this feeling had become acute. Everywhere around him, the thief could now sense a _wrongness_ flowing through the city, and this sense had grown with each passing day. The thief had always been cautious, but that incongruent sense had made him downright paranoid over the intervening time.

It was a good thing, however, because now everyone was after him.

City guards had done the unexpected the last few weeks and come into the crime-ridden docks district, a place they usually avoided, to place wanted posters with a reasonably realistic sketch of his face on them.

Someone powerful wanted him now, and Gantz could only believe it was because he held the orb.

The thief shook his head. He had always wondered where his supernatural speed had come from, and now he knew. Some grumpy magic crystal that lived in a floating castle on the other side the world had been responsible. Sure, everybody knew vaguely about the Crystals. They were supposedly magical artifacts left by some gods or other, and they kept the world in balance... whatever that meant. He hadn't the foggiest idea what it was to be the Chosen of Wind, except that the Wind Crystal wanted him to help it somehow.

Anyway, Gantz was well known in the docks district, though his reputation in the area was now working against him. Groups of street toughs often patrolled, rough bastards from every gang he knew of, studiously searching their territories in the docks with an interest they had never showed before. A reward of one million Gil was not to be balked at, and these cutthroats would slit their own mums' throats for much less.

All this had the boy thinking furiously. He did so now while crouched in the recess of a back alley amongst warehouses, behind a large pile of crates. Whenever he had done a heist, he had done it masked, but there were still a good number of people that knew his face. His 'friends' including Peg-leg, and Lenny were dead now, he knew. Only that Dark Elf remained from that encounter, and she could still be hunting him.

The guards were the thing though. City guards had always left the docks district alone as long as the seedy activities were kept to the limits of the docks themselves and did not spill out into other districts. Guards actually coming into the docks and posting wanted posters was a very rare event and it usually was because some docks denizen had wondered out and done something dastardly to severely annoy a blue blood in another district. What Gantz gathered from this is that his not delivering the orb had upset someone enough to want him badly for his failure to deliver. This someone was powerful enough to exert pressure on various officials, some with command of the Guard, allowing a very rare event to take place. The reward itself also spoke volumes. One million Gil was am awful lot of money. Only dukes or duchesses had that kind of coin... or the King himself.

Whoever was responsible, Gantz had effectively been pinned down. Anyone at all would turn him in now; his fences, his contacts – anyone. Hellfire, he'd do it in a heartbeat for that much coin... if it were somebody else. Unfortunately it was not, and the only way he could go back to a normal life now was by leaving Cornelia altogether. It was too bad, the White City had been good hunting grounds for him. However, self-preservation was always top priority, and his stores of foodstuffs were getting low in the last of his hideaways. Sure, he could steal more, but with everybody and their dog looking for him, he figured he should just cut his loses and run before the entire docks descended on him.

From where he crouched, the boy wrapped the black coif of cloth around his dark face. Quickly, he got the black cloth in place and it covered everything of his head except for his tilted brown eyes to peer out. He wore the dark leather jerkin as well as his dark vest with his thieves' tools inside. Dark leather pants and black boots with soft soles completed his outfit with his pack strapped closely to his back. It mainly harbored food, though its smallest most secure pocket contained the wooden box in which lay the crystalline orb.

Of course, the boy's hands slid to his most prized possessions, the plain hide-wrapped hilts of his long knives, one sheathed over each hip. Slowly, he brought them from their sheathes, reversing his grip on the hilts so he held them at his side, blades pointing back. He also shrugged, feeling the throwing daggers he had hidden all about his person in hidden sheaths.

"Ready as I'll ever be," he said and leapt up silently onto the top of the creates. He crouched there for a second, peering down the alley. A group of shoulder-thumpers passed by the alley's mouth, but did not bother to look down it. They wouldn't have seen Gantz in the shadows all the way at the end of the alley even if they had looked, but the thief kept himself perfectly still until they passed. He leapt down to his feet silently and crept forward, ever-ready for something to simply pop out at him. His dark tilted eyes scanned ceaselessly, even as he crept up to the edge of the alley wall and pressed himself against it, glancing out this way and that.

The big apes were moving up the narrow service way, grunting amongst themselves. Dock workers up further kept at their burdens, carrying barrels or sacks or what-have-you into and out of warehouse doors. For a million Gil, Gantz was sure even those trying to make a semi-honest living in the docks would drop what they were doing to chase him down – not that they had a snowball's chance of catching him – but still, he needed to be careful of anyone seeing him.

The rooftops were not safe either. He had noticed dangerous looking black-garbed fellows given to guarding the rooftops days after he had taken the orb, even before the wanted posters went up.

That meant that someone wanted him badly indeed. An army of black-clad figures were stationed everywhere up above and often searched the streets and back alleys in the dead of night. Gantz had even watched several nights in a row where street toughs had blundered into a group of assassins and were quickly dispatched – though Gantz had ambushed the assassins immediately afterward and slaughtered them.

The thief shook his head as he lurked. He should have left the city sooner than this... but he hadn't been able to. It was as if some siren's song were keeping him here and he could not make himself leave the White City. Now, however, as shadows grew long in the twilight this day, he was able to. Maybe it had something to do with the grumpy crystal, he wasn't certain. At any rate, he damn sure was leaving now.

He peered out into the alley again. No one was in the service way except the dock workers two buildings up. He waited to a count of five, then rushed across the cobbles into the mouth of another alley. Counting to five again, he let out a relieved breath – no alarm raised.

He moved again. His progress was slow due to his utmost caution, but he managed his way nearly to the south quarter before he started thinking about the orb and crystal again. _The Crystal of Wind_, he thought. _What is it exactly and why did it choose me for help?_

"_Because you are of the Dawn_..." came a resonate whisper.

Gantz immediately suppressed a yelp and pressed his back against the wall. He looked wildly about him, his knives poised to strike, but nothing was in the alley with him. Then, between one blink and the next, a large white tiger lay across the alley from him in the middle of licking one of its large paws. Afterward, it lowered its paw and faced him with piercing green eyes.

A memory twitched in the back of the boy's mind. "I've seen you before, Sir Tiger. Who in the realm are you?"

"_I am the Herald_," came the whisper again, though not from the tiger, but seemingly all around.

Gantz shrugged uncomfortably under the creature's unflinching stare. "What exactly are you heralding?"

There was no answer, and the tiger started grooming its other paw. Gantz blinked again and the tiger was gone from the alleyway as if it had never been.

The thief shook his head. "Maybe I'm going crazy. Damn it all, I should of left the city sooner!" There was no use for it now, however, so Gantz shut his mouth and went back into stealth mode.

The boy cautiously turned down another alley and his dark eyes quickly narrowed. The alley appeared empty, but something wasn't right. It took him only a second to realize what it was and he continued forward again, slightly less cautiously than before. He darted across another service way, dock workers down the cobbles getting ready for the bell to call an end to another day's work. None of them noticed him seventy feet away as he entered a large warehouse empty of people and commodities except for a few large crates in the rear. He stopped when he got to the center of the warehouse and turned about to glare at the entrance. As he did so, he raised up on the balls of his feet, his knives poised for violence. "You can show yourself now."

He wasn't surprised when the Dark Elf assassin came around the side of the opened doors, leaning against them to fold her arms. "Well, well, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised since its you."

Gantz growled. "So, you are responsible for all this; the wanted posters, the assassins, everything!"

The woman stood from leaning, her icy eyes sharpening with contempt. "Oh no, worm, not me. My mistress is responsible. I just happened to give her your description." She laughed darkly then rose her fingers to snap. Immediately, four masked black-garbed men rushed in through the doors to stand at her flanks. "Take off your masks," she ordered them and the men obeyed...

They were pale thin Dark Elves all, each unsheathing twin scimitars.

For once in his life, Gantz started to worry – just a bit – before he suppressed it. Slowly, a grin spread on his face beneath his masking coif, even as the lead Dark Elf unsheathed her own scimitars. "Since your death is imminent, you should know that the Lady Falea will see you to the void. This I swear."

"A snotty noble, I should have guessed," Gantz quipped before he went into his lowest stance, bringing one of his knives up before his face, the back of the blade tight against his arm. "I've not had a real, honest-to-gods challenge since I came to this city. Maybe now I've found one."

A smile almost like a snarl peeled back Falea's lips. "Arrogant to the end, human, now die – " but her words were suddenly cut off as the far wall of the warehouse exploded, sending dust and debris nearly halfway across the room. Yelling sounded without in that direction, men shouting and fleeing in terror.

Gantz looked over his shoulder in shock, as the dust cleared. When it did so, he saw the strangest shrouded individual he had ever seen standing within the charred hole...

Luminous orange lights seemed to wreathe whoever it was.

**IIIIIIIIII**

Robin Magus had quickly decided that she hated cities more than anything else.

It started this very day when she had approached the massive white gates of Cornelia. It had been early morning, just after dawn, and the gates were newly opened for the day. Along the broad road that went through the gates were literally four lanes of traffic: wagons and carts and sedan chairs, and people... so damned many people. It was more people than Robin had ever seen in her life; useless, feeble-minded city dwellers as far as the eye could see.

Instantly, her fury had started to build.

She skirted the line of traffic to one side. People noticed and began pointing at her, since she was dressed far differently than any of them in their myriad provincial styles. Her glowing eyes, of course, made her quite a sight for any ignorant fool, but when one wagon driver realized she was going to cut in front of him near the gates he opened his mouth to shout a curse at her to wait her turn...

Orange sigils surrounded her.

Robin set his wagon on fire and the man shrieked and jumped down to flee. Everyone else gasped, edging back from her, the gate guards as well.

She jabbed a finger at the guards. "I am going in now, fools, impede me at your peril!"

The armored men dropped their spears and backed away until their captain came out shouting. "What in the realm are you doing, idiots, stop that shrouded bint!"

Robin roared at such insolence, and her sigils turned frosty blue. A blast of freezing air stopped all seven men dead in their tracks, their legs frozen to the ground. She passed them by with a contemptuous snarl as they struggled in vain to break free.

More guards came, but she froze them in place as well before she entered the city proper.

Immediately, her teeth clenched at the sheer amount of noise. She came upon a vast white-stone boulevard flanked by wood-framed buildings of many sizes, as well as booths and shops. People packed the vast avenue to each side of the lanes of ox-pulled wagons and carts. Hawkers cried their wares, shop owners conversed with patrons, people milled about like ants in a kicked hill.

Growling, the Black Mage put her hands over her ears as best she could and still grip her charred black rod. She started forward before a brightly-clothed fellow approached her, perhaps trying to interest her in one of the baubles he was selling in a booth near the entrance.

Robin waited until he came close enough, then jabbed him in the groin with her rod. The man grunted and doubled over in pain, and she then cracked him over the head. He crumpled to the ground.

People who had witnessed the event gasped, but she glared at them all, daring them to do something.

No one did, of course, and Robin stalked on, gripping her rod tightly in both hands before her.

She kept icy sigils around her at all times, and that combined with her odd clothes and angry glowing eyes kept anyone else from approaching her. Indeed, she soon found herself in a corridor of people that parted at her advance. Many murmured to each other as she went by, but as long as they did not impede her, the Black Mage could have cared less.

Knots of guards noticed her and tried to confront her, but she froze them in place, wishing she could just summon fire to burn them all to cinders – yet she knew actual killing would not help her purpose. In fact, it would do the very opposite and she would have a whole army of these blasted guards on her head, a foolish confrontation and a stupid waste of time.

So she continued on, her teeth clenching harder and harder until it seemed her jaw might break. Everything in this blasted city gnawed at her until it was all she could do to suppress a white-hot rage roiling inside her. As she stalked forward, people saw her and backed away with more and more alacrity.

A massive white castle came more sharply into view as she moved, and Robin's jaw unclenched as she looked. Still in the distance, upon a rising hill, white towers arose at the corners of a pale stone keep. An inner wall surrounded the keep, flowing down to connect to a ring of curtain walls that guarded the outer bailey of the castle. Inside those walls was another city within the city. Mighty blue-and-white quartered flags flew from the tops of all the towers, seeming to flow in a strong wind that was not apparent down here.

The Black Mage had never seen such a sight; tombs and ruined fortresses yes, but never such a work as this.

Instantly she shook her head, cursing herself for a fool. She was wasting time gawking and continued on. Robin knew these city-dwelling fops were ruled by some leader called a King, and she meant to have words with him. If anybody would know where the Chosen of Earth was, it had to be the King. She hoped so anyway. If their leader didn't know, then all city-dwellers were less than useless, and she just might start using fire until somebody damn well told her what she wanted to know!

Striding forward again, Robin managed to enter a great plaza with a mighty white stone fountain of three tiers in its center. Booths of many sizes circled the foot of the fountain, all of them sporting awnings of many different and garish colors. Of course, people filled the plaza, many having the look of haggling. The din of so many voices had Robin growling audibly, and people still parted for her to go by as the frosty runes surrounded her.

Suddenly, however, a voice shouted from somewhere beyond the milling throng. A great shout it was, and managed to be heard clearly over the hubbub. "Everyone part for the Guard, the Guard is coming through!"

People gave way slowly at first, until ranks of armored men resplendent in their gold breastplates and white-plumed helms marched through with spears held ready as if for combat – then people couldn't get out of the way fast enough.

Everyone pushed themselves to the edge of the plaza and only Robin Magus was left in the open. The curse she uttered was clear and loud enough for everyone to hear.

It was the captain from the gate guards she had frozen before. Robin growled like a beast. Her Freezing Hold spell should have lasted for much longer, but he was free somehow and had obviously gotten reinforcements in place ready to cut her off.

Ranks of guardsmen faced her now, far too many to simply freeze in place. She gripped her black rod tightly, her glowing eyes twitching around the plaza, trying to find a way to escape. Astonished bystanders created a tight ring about her on every side of the cobbles, seemingly impenetrable.

She roared at the guards before her. "Out of my way, you dim blasted fools, I must see your King!"

The captain came forward a few steps from the ranks of his men, pointing his longsword at her. "I think not, intruder. Now drop your staff and kneel for the fetters. The dungeon walls are the only thing you're going to see."

Another man came up to the captain's shoulder, however, and whispered in his ear, prompting the captain to lower his sword as he listened intently, nodding reluctantly and stepping back with his men after the other finished.

This second man then came forward, one hand out in a gesture of peace, his other hand gripping a tall ashen staff. He was about average height and fairly plain-looking. It was his clothing, all white, and his white cloak embroidered all along the hem with red triangles that made Robin's glowing eyes burn ferociously.

The man spoke: "I am Sebastian Belman of the Order of the White Staff. From the old archives I recognize you, for you wear robes similar to your kind of old. Your glowing eyes more than confirm it. You are a Black Mage, are you not?"

Robin surprised everyone by laughing darkly. "You, White Mage, are my sworn enemy! Now die!" In an instant, her icy runes went blazing orange and she sent a ball of writhing fire to streak toward the man.

Calmly, Brother Belman raised his staff, saying something under his breath and a glowing white sphere, nearly transparent, surrounded him. It happened in just more than a second as the ball of fire struck the sphere and exploded. The crowd gasped.

When the flame and smoke dissipated, Brother Belman stood whole and unharmed.

Robin's eyes widened in shock. Was this the strength of white magic? Her mind raced and a plan came to her quickly. She made herself laugh again. "A test, fool, now for my true strength." She summoned several balls of flame an sent them blazing into the White Mage's protective Shell.

They struck with great blasts, filling a large area with chocking smoke, and when it cleared, Robin was moving away. She ran straight to her right away from the Guard and the white-robed man. That she had to flee caused her stomach to writhe in pure outrage, but this was wasting too much of her time. She would find another way to the King, it just wouldn't be the most direct route.

As she ran, the hue and cry was lifted, but none of the people before her tried to stop her as her runes changed once more to freezing blue and she sent blasts of icy winds ahead of her to frighten people from her path quickly. They staggered back, opening a path for her that led down a side street perpendicular to the plaza. She took it running, one hand on her black peaked hat to keep it in place, her tattered robes flapping behind her.

She ran for some time, bile growing in her throat as weariness began to take her. Her legs started to burn fiercely, but she forced herself on. The White City was enormous and she quickly became lost. However, she could still see the great castle rising on its hill in the distance. She tried to move towards it, but streets and back alleys took her in such a convoluted path, she thought she would never get there. Her rage grew by leaps and bounds, especially when she stopped for a minute, leaning on her rod to catch her breath, and heard guards shouting some ways behind her. Of course, people she had passed during her flight were pointing her route out for her pursuers. She would never escape. This blasted city was a labyrinth!

Refusing to give up, Robin knew she would have to create a diversion and a wicked smile bloomed on her face. Taking one last final breath, she summoned the flame and set the building she leaned next to on fire. Afterward, she ran on. Her strength ebbing quickly, she moved, setting other buildings alight with small blasts of fire. Now the fool guards had a choice: they could continue to chase her and let the city burn, or they could stop and help put out the fire. The people would undoubtedly want them to do the latter and save their precious homes and businesses, hopefully buying her more time.

Screams replaced shouts as Robin Magus ran by those who dropped what they were doing to point at the fire in their midst. Robin stopped putting buildings aflame and ran on, her breath coming in a ragged pant. Casting when you were tired was difficult, since casting took energy to do in the first place. Robin was even more exhausted than she would have been otherwise, but continued to push for some time until she crossed a small white stone bridge that arched over a narrow canal and came into a part of the city dominated by multitudes of broad flat-roofed warehouses. Rough-garbed workers carried crates, barrels, and other burdens to and fro and in the distance a little farther east she could see the masts of ships at dock.

The girl stopped for a breather and set her back against a warehouse wall a few yards from a dozen workers. Some of them gave her odd looks, but none said anything to her. She returned their looks with a suspicious glare, but did not hold it long as she half slumped to the ground, using her rod as a prop to hold herself up.

She ground her teeth. First the city; the noise, the people... and then the lesser mage. The fool had shrugged off her fireball easily and that in itself stoked Robin's anger to a fine jagged boil. She forced herself to stand, taking a deep breath to try and calm and focus herself so she could get her bearings, but it was no use. Her orange sigils flared around her balefully, becoming nearly white hot as rage seethed within her being. She gripped her charred black rod as if she might break it in two. The White Mage had done this; it was his fault, delaying her, harrying her. It seemed her pursuit was lost for now, but that was no comfort. No comfort at all.

The Black Mage roared in terrific anger. A section of the warehouse wall at her back simply exploded, blown inward by a blazing blast of power. Charred debris rained down and smoke filled the area. The dock workers screamed in terror, falling over themselves to get away.

Robin turned to look into the charred hole her rage had wrought, and she came through the dissipating smoke into a long low warehouse that was nearly empty... except for a group of black-garbed individuals across the way all staring in stunned silence at her abrupt entrance.

Her orange sigils a nimbus about her, Robin went a dozen steps further in, noticing now that it seemed five of the people were standing before the sixth as if a fight were about to take place. She must have just interrupted it.

Caring not, she raised her hand and summoned a ball of writhing flame. It hovered just above her open palm and she pulled her arm back, before flinging it into their midst.

The group scattered with amazing speed as the ball of fire struck and exploded. One was just a hair too slow, however, and was consumed in fire, shrieking as he ran to rebound hard off a wall and fall, rolling feebly about before he stopped making any noise or movement altogether.

A woman's dark voice shrieked with her own anger. "Blasted humans! I will take him, the rest of you kill the intruder – Now!"

The remaining men scattered. The woman blurred toward the other black-garbed figure while the three men ran low, trying to close with Robin herself. They moved like the wind near enough, but Robin only chuckled darkly. "Let us see how fast you fools really are..." And her blazing orange runes turned electric blue.

It took her only several seconds to chant the spell, but the first man was nearly upon her anyway, his strange gaunt countenance accentuated by long pointed ears. He leapt toward her, one wicked scimitar reaching out to skewer when she released the crackling bolt of energy from her fingertips. It sizzled out, too fast to track. It struck the leaping figure through the chest, so hot that he burst apart as the moisture in his body exploded. His leap lost all its momentum as half his body turned to ash, the charred remains thumping to the ground.

Lightning still arced from Robin's hand, a strong crisp smell filling the air. The last two assassins were charging toward her when she let a second bolt fly. This one forked in mid-air, stabbing through the two remaining men, and burning half their bodies to ash, swords flying from their hands to skitter along the ground.

There was a piercing shriek across the way, and the woman faltered. The other figure let her fumble backward, and she moved awkwardly, apparently deeply injured in one leg.

Robin came up further, her orange runes burning about her again. Closer now, she could see a deep hatred etched in the woman's icy blue eyes. She noticed Robin and spat at her. "Who are you; why are you helping this fool? I was to be elevated to day if I killed him – damn you, damn you to the Abyss for your treachery!"

The Black Mage simply shrugged. "It was not your lucky day, Dark Elf. My tribe has a history with your kind." She raised her hand and a ball of flame coalesced there.

The other black-garbed figure looked warily between them, but decided to back out of the way before Robin launched her fire into the Dark Elf. The woman's screams of agony as she was consumed were quite cathartic. Afterward, the Black Mage rounded on the final figure.

He was black-garbed as well, his head shrouded in a coif of black cloth that covered all but his dark tilted eyes. His stance was guarded, his long knives streaked with blood and held poised. There was wary gratitude in his voice. "Well, I don't know what to say except... thanks... I guess, for saving me."

Robin snarled. "I didn't save you, idiot, I saved you for last!" She flung a ball of fire at him, but he tucked himself into a roll, dodging it cleanly and was up, running faster than anything she had ever seen. He circled her at a distance and she launched ball after ball of flame at him. He jumped and dodged and flipped, each missile missing him, sometimes by mere inches, to blast into the ground or the walls. Fire started to writhe all about as the edges of the warehouse burned. Roaring in frustration, Robin switched sigils and electric blue glyphs wreathed her. She laughed in triumph knowing nothing could match the speed of her lightning.

She flung the bolt and it arced around the boy and struck the wall behind him, setting it alight.

Robin actually gaped, before flinging another bolt. This one forked three times, but all three arcs sizzled around the boy to the side, striking the wall behind him. "Impossible, I control the arcs, you should be dead!"

The figure waved an admonishing knife at her. "Sorry to disappoint you." He went into a low stance, his voice taking an edge. "Now it's my turn."

He flashed forward, and Robin threw another lightning bolt at him. It went wide, scoring the floor, and then he was on her, his knife poised just under her throat. At the same time, her hand, crackling with energy, was poised over his neck.

Neither strike came.

Instantly, as their eyes met, their faces only a foot from each other, two lights flared.

The Black Mage suddenly felt as if she were trapped in a dream, as the Orb of Fire suddenly hovered before her instead of being tucked into the hidden pocket in her robes. Instantly, she witnessed herself flying across the world – and back in time – coming into the depths of a mighty volcano, into its fiery heart, to see a massive shard of floating crystal that blazed with writhing red-orange power.

At the same time, Gantz saw the Orb of Wind glow before his eyes, instead of being tucked into his backpack. He flew into the past as well, seeing the floating castle in a better state of repair than he had in his previous vision. In a mighty hall seemingly made of many great arches, a mass of people who spoke a strange musical language gazed upon an enormous shard of misty green crystal.

_Some strength we have found in your meeting._

_Some hope we have gained..._

_To become again as we once were, the guardians of all things..._

_The preservers of all life._

In bright flashes of light, the orbs disappeared into their respective containers and the Chosen of Wind and the Chosen of Fire were encompassed in a sphere of bright spectral light.

It lasted only a handful of seconds, and when it dissipated, the two within it were gone.


	10. Veil of Darkness

**Veil of Darkness**

Her mother had learned to play it when she'd been a girl. Her mother had taught her to play it.

Her mother was gone now. Only her father remained, and he was not the man he had once been.

The soft music her delicate fingers wrought from the instrument in her hands flowed out and filled the sitting room. Her ladies-in-waiting sat rapt, their eyes glistening over with the beauty of the song she played as it filled their minds with its simple yet hauntingly profound melody.

She felt as if she did not play it, but it played her, or spoke through her. She felt as if every one of her line before her who had learned to pluck gracefully at its strings were guiding her as sure as the hand of fate itself.

She played for several minutes, sitting upon her high-backed pale wood chair, heavily gilded and cushioned in green velvet. With no armrests, it gave her sufficient room to play the lute to her fullest ability.

The instrument itself was of an exotic dark wood streaked with almost silvery striations aligned within the grain. Though ancient, its strings had never once needed tuning, and any melody wrought from it was absolutely enchanting with a skilled practitioner at the strings.

The woman finished with a slight bow in sitting and her ladies-in-waiting clapped delightedly, more than one dabbing at her eyes with a lacy handkerchief.

"You play so beautifully, Princess."

The Princess Sarah nodded graciously with a small smile. "Thank you, Lillia."

Afterward, Sarah stood, carefully setting the Lute of Ages aside upon a silver stand, meant for the sole purpose of holding the old family heirloom aloft. She then turned toward the room's single tall arched window, and immediately felt something _wrong. _It was an intermittent sense she had often got of late, though she could never place its source. Oddly enough, no one else seemed bothered by it, and Sarah found herself keeping it a secret from even her most trusted confidants.

She was tall and slender in a flowing dress of white silk, of unusually simple cut for her station, but embroidered liberally with rose-colored scroll-work up the arms and across the bodice. Her long blond hair was held in place mainly by a silver net set with small amethysts, though one long loch fell down over her temple to curl just under her chin. Her face was angular, but far from severe, with high cheek bones set off with a natural flush. Her nose was aquiline between her large crystal green eyes, and she had to work at every moment to keep the worry out of them when she was amongst the sycophants and self-serving nobles of the court. Such people had once been anomalous back when her father had been himself, but the King's... deterioration... the last two years had led to many such injustices throughout the Kingdom, especially the rise of lickspittles and worse.

Still troubled and distant, the princess heard her friends gossiping together amongst the many plush chairs all about the pale-paneled sitting room. "It just fell out of the sky into one of the orchards to the east of the city, and no one knows why."

Another young woman gasped in shock, a hand covering her mouth. "Truly, Vera, are you certain? I have never heard of such a thing, an airship crashing! I thought the guild made sure they could never crash."

Adra, the oldest of them, shook her head. "It wasn't the only one from what I've heard. A dozen in the last month, from galleons to merchantman to wind-spinners, all of them falling out of the sky for no reason."

A plump girl shook her head with a squeak. "Oh, how dreadful! Does anyone know what the Skyborne Guild has said about this? Surely the Guildmaster or one of the engineers has had something to say."

Vera tapped her chin in thought. "I've not heard a thing about any official statement, but I most certainly won't be flying on any airship anytime soon."

Lillia shoved her playfully. "Oh, not even with that princeling Ryton. He is quite taken with you, Vera, and you said there would be nothing finer in the realm than taking a long secluded voyage with him into the skies on a private raker."

Vera tittered. "Well, I suppose it would be romantic at that... at least until we plummeted to our deaths!"

They all thought it a great joke, falling about each other giggling.

Princess Sarah remained unusually aloof, and stopped listening. Yes, innocent merchants and shipmen had died as over a dozen airships had simply failed. It was no joke, but these girls had lived such sheltered lives that they knew very little of real pain or suffering. Sarah had dealt with little herself, but she felt a duty to her people now, if she had not before. She was no girl any longer, and even though her father had recently told her she would have nothing to do with ruling Highland, Sarah could not simply titter about those who were dying inexplicably.

She got a sense then, a feeling, that something dire was descending on them all –

_Yellow...Red...Blue...Green..._

Colors flickered through her head and a weight fell subtly upon her shoulders. She tried unconsciously to shrug it off, but it did not leave. In fact, it grew heavier. Her emerald eyes widened of their own accord as she saw images of the world with black writhing clouds raining flame down upon the scarred land beneath. The dead outnumbered the living, and the oceans were as boiling blood.

The princess fell to her knees with a gasp.

The other girls all looked over suddenly. "Princess Sarah, what is wrong?" asked Lillia.

Sarah did not hear, did not know she herself was speaking, her voice strained as if each word brought gut-wrenching pain. "The earth rots... the seas rage... the wind dies... Veil of Darkness..."

Her ladies-in-waiting gathered around her with concern etched upon their faces as she knelt there, but Sarah saw them not, only the horrid visions, the screams of those torn asunder... the black fire, the rotting earth, the groaning wind, the poison water... all of it crashing down upon her...

Darkness was coming... coming for her.

The princess tried to scream, to quail, but her voice was gone. Quivering lips was all she could muster...

And then it was suddenly gone, just as a knock came at the chamber door.

Her friends surrounded her, fear for her painting their faces, when Sarah suddenly pushed herself to her feet, still clammy cold from what she had witnessed. She kept it to herself, however, as the knocking came again, this time rudely insistent.

"Come," the princess managed, finding her voice again.

The door opened and the Count Sumpter Baigan came in, dressed in is usual finery. His ruggedly handsome face wore no hint of diffidence toward her as he entered, his mouth turning down as he surveyed her surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting. "The Lady General Mari is waiting for you in the King's council chamber," he said flatly.

Odious man this one was and the Princess Sarah banished her previous fear to raise her chin, glaring at him imperiously. "So you are the Duchess Mari's errand-boy this week, are you, Count Baigan?"

The man's jaw clenched. There was a distinct edge to his words. "This is a meeting of utmost urgency, called by the King himself. You are to be in the private council chamber as soon as you are able and not a second longer!" With that, he slammed the door shut and was gone.

Vera shook her head. "Horrid man, and he clearly forgets himself."

Lillia looked frightened. "He had such hate in his eyes after your words, Princess."

Sarah remarked them all calmly, then gave a sigh. "He is a self-serving buffoon, and a fool besides, licking the boots of the Four Great Fools that lick the boots of my father."

Vera nodded, but folded her arms cautiously. "True, Princess, but... I think he is dangerous."

The princess nodded slightly, her response a mere whisper. "I know." She spoke normally after. "I must go, and if it is in the private council chamber, then I must go alone."

They all looked uneasy and uncertain about leaving her alone after the strangeness that had just happened to her, but she reassured them firmly that she was all right. Still, they were reluctant to let her go.

Minutes later, she walked the high-arched corridors of the Castle Cornelia lined with colorful tapestries depicting coats-of-arms or hunting scenes or old battles. These bright halls, once so reassuring and secure, now felt hollow and empty, despite the many blue-and-white liveried servants that scurried about performing their duties. There were thrice as many servants as there used to be, and Sarah knew beyond a doubt that many of the newer people were agents working for some noble or merchant prince or other magnate that had set them here to learn what they could for the benefit of their master's power games.

The young woman suppressed a weary sigh, keeping herself calm and self-assured as she glided along the halls toward her destination. Many servants bowed, as well as nobles or merchants or other guests who saw her as they went by. She acknowledged them all with appropriate nods, but kept her pace brisk making it clear she did not wish to be engaged. Besides, she didn't trust half the people in the castle these days. She dare not.

Despite her quick pace, one person came up from a side hall to match her stride with a very formal bow, doffing his wide-brimmed red hat, a white feather in it. Sarah was tall, but this young man, no more than a year or two older than she at most, was taller by inches. He was quite handsome, with sparkling violet eyes and a smiling face. He made a flourish with his stylish red hat and red cloak that was amazingly smooth despite that they were both walking quickly. He must have practiced that flourish a great deal.

He carefully fit the red hat back onto his bronze-colored hair, shoulder-length and styled to accentuate his handsomeness. "Ah, Princess Sarah, you look truly enchanting this day, may I have a word?"

The princess frowned at him. "You've already a sentence, Good Sir, may I have your name first?"

"Of course, Princess, how ungracious of me." He flashed her another smile. "I am True Herring, the Red Bard. Have you heard of me?" he asked hopefully.

The young woman wiped the irritation from her face. "No, I do not believe I have."

He immediately seemed put off, but was smiling again all too quickly. "Not to worry. Anyhow, your Highness, I was wondering if I might have a word about your cousin."

The princess glanced at him, before facing straight ahead. "You are going to have to be much more specific, Good Sir. I have many cousins."

"Valor Loftlan, Highness. I have a message for him that is most urgent. I am new to the city, however, and have so far been unable to find my way to his abode. If it pleases you, I can give you a small bit of the letter to assure you of its importance."

The princess frowned. A bard was supposed to be a world-traveler, a teller of tales and gatherer of information. That was part of the trade, so she had heard, so this man must be a very great fool indeed if he could not so much as find his way around a city without intruding on her.

While she debated, he leaned in close, whispering: "Yellow, Red, Blue Green." Princess Sarah suddenly stopped to glare at him in shock, before she caught herself and hurried on. He followed, barely breaking stride. His seemingly ingratiating smile was still in place, but there was a seriousness in violet eyes now. "I think you will agree, Highness, that my letter is worth getting to him."

The princess nodded curtly and turned down a side corridor, which would take her the long way around toward the throne room and the private council chamber to its side. She did not want to be seen whispering since the rumors would carry, but neither would she allow any of the eyes-and-ears to hear what they discussed so she leaned close to the young man. "Who are you?"

He leaned in as well. "A friend of a friend, Highness, someone who knows someone who liked the way this country used to be. We've been trying to get word to you, but your position makes it quite difficult. You are surrounded, Highness, surrounded by those who mean you harm. Your cousin Valor is also more important than you can imagine."

Sarah considered his words carefully. She remembered Valor, but had not seen him much in the past four years. She knew him back when she had still been a silly girl before her father's change had given her new insight. She always remembered Valor being too rigid and boring, though, as with many other things, she might see him in a different light now.

She became pensive as she continued on, remembering all too well those horrid visions from earlier and suddenly it all came crashing down on her. She knew the legend, she had been versed in it as all nobles were supposed to be, to remind them of their duty to the people of Highland when the time of prophecy came. "It cannot be," she whispered breathily.

True kept next to her, still smiling for others to see, and nodded. "Yes, Princess, it is coming."

She looked up at him. "You know where Valor lives, correct?" He nodded and she spoke up. "Very well, Sir Bard, a good day to you."

The young man smiled, stopping where he was to flourish his hat and cloak at her back. He then turned and strode down the opposite way.

The slight smile on her face died quickly after the red-cloaked man had gone. In fact, there was nothing to smile about now, nothing at all. She barely even remembered stopping before the throne room doors for the gold-armored guards to open them before she stepped through. She entered the throne room, seeing none of it before she came up before Chancellor Breen. The old man had been more like a father to her the last few years than her own. He was shorter than she, wrapped in his ceremonial robes of royal blue trimmed in white with the rampant silver griffon of Highland large on its back. A worried frown creased his weathered face, his tall ceremonial miter perched upon his white-haired head. "You look as distant as I have ever seen you, Sarah."

She came back to herself enough to glance at him worriedly. "I must see, father. Is he in the private council chamber, Breen?"

The old man wrung his hands. "No, Princess, he is in the Chamber of War with the military officials that returned with the Lady General Mari. She is the only one that awaits you in the private council chamber."

"This cannot wait, Breen, I must see my father with all haste."

"All haste, Princess... I think not," came a dark voice from behind.

Sarah whirled.

There she stood, taller than most men in her scarlet armor, with its wicked serpentine motif. Her severe face and red eyes were visible through the open jaws of a her helm that resembled a hooded cobra. Despite her heavily worked plate-mail, the Lady General seemed to slither forward, armored hands resting casually on the pommels of her falchions in their bejeweled sheaths.

Princess Sarah drew herself up in confrontation, her chin lifting. "The Duchess Mari."

The woman gave her a sly look as she came up to stand, quite casually, before Sarah. There was no deference here, none at all. This woman had never given any such when it came to Sarah, nor to anyone that she had seen, except toward her father and that barely. The princess had never liked her. Mari wore temerity the way most people wore cloaks, and there was a danger to this one, Sarah could feel it like she could feel her own skin. "You will come with me on a mission of grave importance, Princess." She paused to bring out the royal scepter from behind her back. "You will take this and we will go north to the ruins where you will show it to the army under Garland, and draw them away from his influence. Your father has named this duty paramount."

"What has Lord Garland done, Mari, that I should have to travel anywhere in _your_ company."

The Lady General gave a dark chuckle at her tone. "Why, he has become a villain and a traitor to Highland's cause. I must go to find out his intentions, you must go to draw the army back to the Kingdom in time to meet the invasion of the Dragon, or this precious city will be sacked, I fear."

If she really feared it, her tone was no indication. Sarah could not help but narrow her eyes, though she kept her face smooth. "Very well, but I must speak to my father first."

The armored woman took another casual step forward, and suddenly Sarah felt fear rush through her. It took a considerable act of will not to let it show on her face.

Mari spoke menacingly: "No, girl, you will not speak to your father, because he has already spoken! This is your duty now, and you will come with me, my _company_ notwithstanding. We leave immediately."

"Do you mean to take an airship?"

Mari gave her a look that called her a fool. "Of course, I do not mean to walk all the way there."

"Have you not heard, Lady Mari, that airships are falling out of the sky for no reason."

The woman suddenly laughed. "Oh-ho, Princess, do not fear, our ship will not fall out of the sky." She turned and walked from the throne room, clearly expecting Sarah to follow.

The princess looked at the Chancellor, Breen having kept silent the whole time. "Please take the utmost care, Princess Sarah, there is something... _wrong _now, with the world. I can feel it."

Sarah nodded at him with a sad smile. "I know, Breen. I know it all too well... now."

Without another word, Princess Sarah turned and followed the Lady General. She knew then for certain that she would have to play all the games she had been avoiding now, if she wanted to make her father really see what was about to descend upon them all.


	11. Forces Gathering

**Forces Gathering**

Sarah stood at the railing along the forecastle of the black ship, letting the wind blow through her unbound golden hair in a vain effort to forget that she was well and truly trapped.

The sky was a vault of bright cerulean seeming to stretch forever, striated with only the faintest wisps of feathery clouds, the earth far below a carpet of emerald grasses as vast as the sky above it. Every now and then the princess spotted the patchwork fields of farms or orchards below, or the occasional clump of buildings to denote a town or village. She was too high up to see people, however.

Sarah turned away from the forecastle, standing upon the deck to see it stretch back quite a ways toward the large cabin in the stern. The black ship was a galleon, the largest class of air vessel, harboring four masts with broad black sails and two sets of large canvas-covered wings extending from the sides of the vessel amidships. It was all dark wood, its hull sheathed in black metal worked along the front and sides in the imitation of a great dragon. Indeed, the figurehead upon the prow of the vessel was worked in the likeness of a ferocious many-headed creature. It was the Duchess Vivalis Tiam's personal transport vessel.

Despite its size, this was the fastest airship the princess had ever ridden on. Usually size and speed were inversely proportional for airships, but this vessel was not like any other, not with its mistress aboard. Sarah knew why now.

All about the deck, the crew moved and worked in utter silence. They were barefoot, blank-faced men with the most hauntingly empty eyes she had ever seen. She had read tales of undead and knew these men were not such, but they were surprisingly close to what she thought a living person could be to dead. What they really were, were slaves to their mistress's will.

The princess wore a green samite dress today worked heavily in thread-of-silver with an elaborate velvet cloak lined in ermine, to stave off the cold winds whipping across the deck. The crew worked around her mechanically as she moved, and she tried not to look at them. A sad thing, but she could do nothing for these poor sailors now. She came down to the main deck and walked passed two great masts toward her captors.

As always, the Lady General Mari was clad in her scarlet armor, striding back and forth impatiently, her bloody eyes focused on the deck below her boots, gauntleted hands gripping the bejeweled hilts of her falchions.

Marilith, the princess knew now. The Fiend of Fire. They had not bothered to keep their secrets from her once in the skies. They would have her do her duty to wrench the army from Garland, and then they would dispose of her, and blame it on Garland. It was most likely a plot to increase her father's hatred toward the former knight in an effort to control the King, while at the same time finding something more to threaten Garland with in order to bring him back into line.

Like her father, Garland had been a good and honorable man once. It was all the Fiends' doing, she knew that now. And the Crystals were dying, their power subverted under the Fiends' will. It was destroying them slowly but surely... and the entire world with them.

The Duchess Vivalis Tiam was as nearly as tall as General Mari, but where the cobra-clad warrior was fully armored, Vivalis wore only a pale yellow dress that was nearly diaphanous, hiding little of her voluptuous body beneath. As the Fiend of Wind, Tiamat certainly did not seem bothered by the cool winds whipping over the deck but her flaunting herself disgusted the princess.

Yet what could she do? She had no choice but to take back the army from Garland if she wanted any chance of saving her country from invasion by the Dragon Empire. Over the last year, Sarah had been used as an emissary by her father in talks discussing the borders and land rights between Kingdom and Empire. Sarah had known from the start that these talks had been nothing but pretense, and she suspected the Dragon emissaries had known as well. A war was brewing, and it had been her father's plot, not the Empire's.

The princess had still not learned all the Fiend's plans, though they spoke freely before her now. It seemed to her, however, that whatever their personal ends, what they wanted in the interim was war and strife...

Chaos.

Yet as Sarah watched Tiamat lounge languidly upon a long cushioned chair, and Marilith pace across the deck, the princess had hope. If this was indeed the Time of Prophecy, then there were other forces gathering besides those of darkness and strife.

Though it had been years, Sarah remembered the text in the old tome clearly:

_Four youths they would be..._

_Unknown to most, they would come..._

_Each bearing an orb..._

_Yellow, Red, Blue, Green..._

_They would ascend with the Dawn..._

_Darkness fleeing at their advance..._

_...Warriors of Light_

If there was fear, there was courage. If there were lies, there was truth. If there was evil, there was good. If there was darkness, there was light.

All this Sarah had read in the Prophecy of Lukahn, one of the first sages of history, the first person ever to try and make a complete record of the muddled history of the world, and his insight had been prophetic. He had lived three hundred years ago, and it was rumored by some who studied such things that there was a conclave somewhere in the world where the descendants of his closest disciples kept the old knowledge complete.

"Would you _please_ stop your pacing, Marilith," Tiamat said airily, "You are making me tired just watching you." She then sipped from her wine glass.

The Lady General whirled about, her bloody eyes glaring. "Damn you, you brainless nit, can you not get us there faster? This is taking too long!"

Tiamat laughed gaily at the insult, waving away the other's concern. "My my, always so uptight, aren't we little serpent. We are moving with all possible speed, I assure you." She idly swirled the wine about in her glass.

Marilith clenched the hilts of her sheathed blades even tighter, but said nothing, whirling away to stalk passed the princess without so much as a glance in her direction.

Tiamat deigned to notice Sarah then, her sapphire eyes glittering with amusement. "Ah, there you are, Princess. Do not let Marilith's tantrums bother you, they are as frequent as they are pointless. How are you taking the journey so far? If you are hungry you can dine in the cabin if you wish. I was thinking of a light repast myself."

Sarah kept her face neutral. "You and Marilith do not get along well," she observed evenly.

The woman laughed again, like the tinkling of bells. She shifted to her side, her long blond hair wrapped about her nearly to her feet. "Do you think to cause dissension among us? My advice is to not waste your time. There is already plenty to go around. We are not, nor have we ever been friends, but allies of necessity. We will not turn on each other, because we cannot. As much as I hate to admit it, our fates are tied together. Are you certain you 're not hungry? I am all but famished myself." She gave a smile that was decidedly predatory.

Without a word, the princess lifted her chin, not bothering to cool the scathing look in her eyes. She then turned and strode away to the mocking laughter of Tiamat.

Forces _were_ gathering, that much Sarah could sense. It was all coming to a head quickly. A new month was drawing near, the Spring ripening. What would happen then, Sarah could not say, but knew that whatever it was, it would be the beginning of something profound.

**IIIIIIIIII**

The Point of Phemnal was a broad rise in the land just below the Pass of Jenharl between a small cluster of mountains to the north that made up the isthmus between the northern and middle continents. South of the Point spread the northern frontier lands of Highland Kingdom, while beyond the pass to the north was the southern most border of the Dragon Empire.

The Point was fortified now, with palisades and wooden walls erected, wreathing the hillside in a protective barrier. Inside, clusters of hide tents for the berserkers and warriors of the Red Axe Tribe surrounded the neat rows of gray tents that marked the grounds of the Imperial Forces, consisting of armored halberdiers and archers. These in turn surrounded the tall peaked pavilions of the Dragon's elite Lancers, centered in the camp on the highest point of the rise.

The Dragonfang, Crown Prince of the Empire, son of the Wind Empress, sat troubled upon a high-backed dark wood chair. Before him within the grand pavilion was a large oval table of a similar wood to his throne and inlaid with lapis lazuli along its edges. Maps of the surrounding countryside covered the top of the table along with sheaves of reports that had come in from imperial scouts.

It was true. Highland's army had abandoned the Point and headed west after utter victory over the Red Axe forces that had come to hold Phemnal while the rest of the Dragon Army was still moving down the pass. An army always took a long time to move with its footman and supply trains, and the Dragonfang had arrived to find the graves of the fallen berserkers that had sworn to the Empire's cause. So ferocious were the tribesmen in battle, but these had all fallen, taking very few enemy pikemen with them and not a single Royal Knight.

Imperial spies and scouts had reported as much. The full strength of Highland was now camped two days away to the east. The Dragonfang put a dark-armored hand to his helmed head, wondering exactly what it was that Highland's general was up to. He leaned forward in his throne tapping an armored finger atop a map with a depiction of the Point of Phemnal, where his forces currently resided. He then slid his finger to the right five inches, stopping it near the chess piece of a knight, an ivory carving of a fierce looking bird's head, though no one knew exactly what kind of creature it was supposed to be, and why it was associated with the knight. Chess was an ancient game after all and much knowledge had been lost.

What game was this Garland playing? The Dragonfang could march his forces south, right through Highland's border, and a comparably sized force two days east would not be able to stop him from doing so. Cornelia, Highland's capital city, was situated fairly far northward in its lands, not three weeks hard march south from the Point. In one month's time, the Dragon Army could lay siege to the White City.

Of course, the Dragonfang could not do so, not until he knew his enemy's intention. If he left he Point with his forces, Garland could take his army north through the pass and invade the Empire with impunity. Either that, or he could simply follow the Dragon Army south and flank it while it laid siege to Cornelia.

Amongst Garland's forces, there were imperial spies, but the man did not let his true intentions be known to anyone, at least not anyone that the spies could ferret out. And then there were the ruins themselves. Upon the map, under the chess piece, it was marked dually as the Temple of Fiends and the Chaos Shrine. Amongst the Empire virtually nothing was known of these ruins. It was said that long ago, when the world was much different, these ruins had been a vast temple-city where droves of zealots worshipped some dire evil and made sacrifices of themselves in its name. This dark force had been destroyed, however, though not the wisest scholar in the Empire knew how or why. Imperial spies in Cornelia itself had so far been unable to penetrate the temple of the Order of the White Staff, supposedly robed scholars with libraries that held many of Highland's oldest legends. These 'White Mages' were apparently incorruptible, much to the Intelligence Division's frustration.

Imperative in the art of war was to know your enemy, and there was still too much shrouding the intentions of Highland. The Dragonfang shook his head irately. It seemed as if Garland was daring the man to come to him, daring the Imperial Forces to advance into the unknown. If at all possible, let the enemy come to you, to your chosen ground. That the Dragonfang would have to go east to meet Garland did not sit well with him, but the Knight-General was no paltry foe, he had proven that already. The Dragonfang could not simply ignore him, and Garland had no reason to come to him, since it was apparent that by leaving the Point, the Royal Knight Commander would allow the Dragon Army into Highland.

Giving a weary sigh, the Dragonfang stood in his dark dragon armor, heavily stylized full-plate enameled black. The helm was its most prominent feature. Ornamental ribbed wings flowed back from each side of the helm, and the visor was worked intricately to replicate the face and snout of a dragon. Eye slits allowed the man's dark eyes to peer out, wide enough not to hamper his vision. Only his lower face was visible, lips compressed grimly, as he took up his long-bladed spear to the side.

Afterward, he left the pavilion, ready to confer with his officers and the Red Axe tribal leaders about the dispositions of their forces. Before the day was through he would also have to send a flyer on wyvern-back north to Ember Peak, the Empire's capital city, with a report for his mother. The Empress had to be updated frequently on the state of the army.

Doubts bubbled up in his mind, but the man quelled them with a short prayer to the Empire's patron deity. "Lord of the Skies, Bahamut, I beseech you! Lend me strength this hour."

And he went, spear in hand, moving through the narrow paths of the camp between tents and cook fires. Men saluted him with arms crossed before chests as he passed. He gave acknowledging nods in return before he came to a clear patch of ground between tents. Another similar was located a half-mile down amongst the Red Axe tents, and it was close-by there that the conference would be held in one of the tribal great tents.

Fixing the direction, the Dragonfang focused quickly before suddenly running several steps and leaping. Into a high soaring jump did he go, his armor light as a feather as the winds whipped about him. Those strong enough to complete the grueling training of a Dragoon were granted the Blessing of Bahamut, which allowed them to soar. Very few could handle such training, which made the Empire's Lancers a small but powerful unit and the core of the Empire's armed forces.

In no time at all, the Dragonfang scythed down through the air to land in a crouch. A ring of officers bowed when he stood, his Dragoon Lieutenant, the captains of the halberdiers and archers. The Red Axe clan heads were there as well, large men and women clad in the furs and hides of the deadly creatures that stalked their mountain homes. Their nods were not quite bows, they were a proud people after all, and they would seek the blood of those who killed their clan mates with a certainty.

The Dragonfang still wondered at Garland's true purpose when he was flanked by his officers and led into the great tent.

**IIIIIIIIII**

It was so peaceful here.

There was a gentle music coming from everywhere and nowhere, a beautiful melody yet tinged with sadness.

Deep within him, he felt a loss he had never known listening to it.

The throne room within the temple was beautiful here where it was only a ruin without. He did not understand it entirely, except in knowing that the barriers of time were weaker inside...

Here, in this lost place.

If it was lost, then so was he, but there was a kind of peace here, and he tried to embrace it.

He looked about. It was a vast square chamber with walls seemingly carved of smooth milky stone. The floor was made of tiles like glass that glittered like crystal. Four massive pearlescent stone fountains gurgled at each corner of the chamber and the vaulted ceiling overhead was inlaid with designs wrought from a thousand different precious gems. Fluted columns lined the walls between the fountains, floor to ceiling, with niches between each one where hovered a small shard of silver crystal, each seeming to chime as it slowly rotated.

How could such a beautiful place be called a lair of fiends?

Traces of the ancient memories that he had forgotten came to him more frequently here, though they were still so muddled that he could discern little more than fleeting impressions. As before, that unfathomable light ended all of them, causing the man to clench his jaw bitterly.

"They will come," he reassured himself. "They will come, and I will finish it."

At the northern wall of the room a crystalline dais rose up from the floor topped by a massive stylized throne of black and scarlet. Wicked and serrated, it was twenty feet tall and worked in designs of web-work like the black strands of some monstrous spider. It was certainly at odds with the serene beauty of the rest of the chamber...

But then again, so was Garland himself.

He had always been a large man, but was now larger, armored head to toe in elaborate black armor that had somehow grown more wicked, with black barbs and spikes. He no longer wore the surcoat of the Royal Knights, having torn it away in a fit of rage after the impressions had left him one time. His cape was still royal blue, yet strange patterns had woven themselves in, stark web-work in black thread. The horns that sprouted straight out from either side of his helm had grown longer. Still, able to see his reflection in the very floor beneath his feet, Garland had noticed his eyes through the T-shaped opening in his helm. They glowed brightly scarlet now and flickered as if a crackling flame lay behind them.

He was growing closer to what he had once been so long ago. That was perhaps, the reason for his changes. Indeed, he felt no need to eat or sleep any longer, nor any inclination to remove his armor. It seemed apart of him now. He was at best, barely human, everything except his mind... and that was going as well.

His army did not dare to come into this place. They stayed camped outside after what had happened to the first few men that had come to inform Garland that the camp was set. Three of those men still stood in the center of the chamber, utterly petrified, their stone forms beginning to crumble.

It had not been Garland's wish for this to happen at the time, and he had somehow managed to free one of them from the Break. By his will, the last knight had twisted out of the spell and scrambled in silent horror back out into the world outside. Word had gotten around, as well as the description of Garland himself, now changed. The army had not fled, however, much to Garland's surprise and he had left the temple to confer with his officers several times. He no longer felt the need to do so any longer.

Whatever twisted power kept normal humans from entering the temple was also twisting Garland. He had feared it at first, but now felt little need to leave the temple, nor even stir from his throne. He would stir, however, a few more times anyway.

"They will come," he reassured himself. "They will come and I will finish it." Had he said that before? He couldn't be certain.

Seemingly unaware, he gripped the armrests of his throne with black clawed hands before unclenching them when suddenly the impressions came again. He knew they were coming and prepared himself, but this time was nothing like before and pain surged through his head as a montage of madness blasted him.

Outside, the army huddled in fear as they heard an unholy roar sound from within the temple. Still, they could not flee... something was holding them here, something they could not resist.

Garland found himself on the floor before his throne, staring at his reflection, unaware that he was gibbering to himself. He stopped, however, as he gained his feet, his glowing eyes no longer flickering but solid red orbs blazing through the visor of his helm.

He laughed raucously then, a guttural undulating rasp that ended in another roar. Then, quite calmly, he gripped the pommel of his enormous black sword. Its ebon surface seemed to swallow normal light and it was wreathed in tendrils of darkly red luminescence.

"They will come!" he roared in triumph. "And I will knock them all down!"


	12. A New Fate

**A New Fate**

The Dragon Empire had amazing spies.

The Intelligence Division was not very forthcoming, but the Dragonfang knew some of what they could do. For one thing, intelligence agents could send and receive messages with a spymaster via some method that involved a silent communication over surprisingly long distances. If the Dragonfang didn't know any better, he would have thought that such agents were mages.

Imagine his surprise then, when his spymaster reported that she was no longer receiving messages from those spies located in Garland's army. It did not bode well at all, but his force was committed now, only half a day away from being able to see the ruins, or at least the heart of the ruins. Half-buried rubble and low vine-wreathed walls had been appearing for the last day, a reminder that the ruins had once been a great city, now lost to the ravages of time. Nothing more substantial than a half-mile of low wall, which had been easily stepped over, had blocked the advance of the Imperial Army.

The Dragonfang shook his helmed head. Had his spies been discovered and interrogated, the enemy would know at least something more than they had about the Imperial Army – though it did not matter now. Garland had to be confronted, and the army was already moving.

Though the ruins were not substantial enough to hide any kind of ambush, the Dragonfang sent out clannish skirmishers, and scouts on wyvern-back to spot anything that might hinder their progress across the rolling grasslands.

It was nearly twilight when the first scout returned. The man had the most oddly disturbing news about the enemy force.

"They are all dead, Lord Dragonfang, everyone of them that I could see. There may be some remnant hiding in the temple, but Red Tail would not allow herself to be guided close enough to land. That place frightened her, my Lord, frightened a battle-hardened wyvern. I saw the corpses for certain, my Lord. Knights, regular infantry, it didn't matter, their corpses were scattered all about the front and western side of the temple ruin."

The Dragonfang pressed his lips together grimly. What was the meaning of this? What he asked was: "In what manner were corpses killed, could you get close enough for that?"

That man's face drained of blood. "I saw close enough, my Lord. Some of them looked utterly crushed, even knights, like insects under a boot. Their armor did not save them at all. Others looked... withered, like they had all moisture sucked from them. Some were torn limb from limb, there were pieces everywhere..." the man finished shakily and his knees suddenly gave out, dropping him to the ground.

The Dragonfang stiffened for a second before recovering himself and walked up to the man and put an armored hand on his shoulder. "Good work, man, good work." He looked to the ranks of soldiers behind him. "I am calling a halt. Halt the march now and make camp." His order was passed back in shouts, and the army spread from rank-and-file, servants coming up from the supply trains to set up tents and prepare cook fires.

In an hour, he sat in his darkwood chair in his pavilion, not noticing the maps or anything else upon the lapis-inlaid table. At least he knew the reason why his spymaster had stopped receiving reports. All the spies were dead, along with the entire enemy army it seemed, except for what might still be hiding in the temple.

"May I enter, Lord Dragonfang." It was Lady Freya, his lieutenant, just outside the tent. Nearly as tall as he, she wore the dark dragon armor as well, her spear held at her side. Her helm was off, however, probably back in her tent. Her countenance was stern, her large violet eyes showing no sign of fear at the scout's report, though such had spread quickly through the ranks. Her argent hair was short and matted against her head.

Still deep in his troubled thoughts, the Dragonfang gave only a perfunctory wave for her to enter. She did so, the look on her face never changing. "Whatever force is responsible for the destruction of the Highland Army could not be found, Lord Dragonfang. Other scouts have returned to confirm it."

"I know," the Dragonfang said flatly.

The woman's eyes twitched in surprise. "How, my Lord?"

"It was Garland, I am certain of it," he answered.

"But that makes no sense at all, my Lord."

"No it does not, Lady Freya, not at all."

The woman came forward several more steps. "Then how can you know such a thing, my Lord?"

The Dragonfang did not answer, and Freya's face softened somewhat. They were alone in the pavilion and she took another step forward, lowering her voice. "How can you know such a thing, Bane?"

With a heavy sigh, the man stood, removing his own helm and setting it down on the table before him. His dark eyes were troubled on his rugged face, his skin sun-dark, contrasted by his bright blond hair, matted as the woman's was. "It was after the first scout made his report, Freya, that I felt it. A darkness... a _wrongness_... you could say. It was everywhere pressing down on me from all sides. I felt terror like I never have, and it was crushing me." He looked up, seeing her frown. "Then, a second later, it was gone, but I knew where it had originated. From the Temple of Fiends... from Garland."

"My Lord, he is but one man," Freya announced incredulously.

Bane Dragonfang shook his head emphatically. "No, this Garland is no man. Even if he once was, he is no longer. Now he is something else, and this army cannot defeat him."

Freya smoothed incredulity from her features. "What would you have us do, my Lord?"

He rubbed a hand over his face wearily. "Spread the word to the army to be ready to mobilize. We are leaving this cursed place as soon as we can."

"My Lord, we just set camp, shouldn't we at least wait until morning? I can send out wyverns in patrols, perhaps we can even get word of what is inside the temple."

"No, Freya, we leave now, back to the Point and back up the Pass."

She frowned. "Such a decision will not be popular, especially among the Red Axe, my Lord. They have already sworn their vengeance upon Highland. They will not give that up lightly."

Bane nodded sharply. The Red Axe were prickly and over-proud, but they had sworn their allegiance to the Dragon, to him specifically, when he had defeated their High Chief in single combat. "Hopefully they will listen to you, but if they do not, then I cannot stop them if they decide charge the ruins in a frenzy. However, the rest of us leave as soon as we can, Freya. Spread the word."

She nodded curtly, and turned to leave the pavilion, but was halted by a frantic messenger that burst into the tent without leave. Freya glared at him, but the man ignored her, his face stark terror. Freya gave Bane a questioning look, but he lifted a hand for her to keep from removing the man bodily. "Urgent message, my Lord," he was panting, face flushed. "A man is coming from the east, my Lord, an enormous Dark Knight in demon's armor. The scouts say his eyes blaze red like a monsters!"

Immediately, Bane's mind raced, and he fit his helm back on, turning to Freya. "Get the army mobilized as fast as possible. Tell everyone to leave what isn't absolutely necessary." The woman hesitated. "Now!" he snapped, taking his spear from beside his chair. "I will try to slow him down. Go now, both of you!"

The messenger scurried out, but Freya remained, a determined look in her eyes. "I will go with you, Bane."

"Blast it, Freya, just obey me! You must lead the army in retreat. I will slow down that monster with everything I have. Now move!"

Freya did not move. "I will have the Dragoons accompany you... for an honor guard."

Bane shook his head, jaw tight. "That is the way of Highland, Freya. I guard my own honor, or do you think me incapable?"

Freya said nothing, face going taut, before she turned stiffly and left the tent.

The Dragonfang sighed irritably before leaving the tent himself. It was still twilight outside, the western horizon a long band of blood-colored sky, while most overhead was turning indigo, countless stars already sparkling across the celestial vault. The demon would be coming from the east, coming with the darkness.

Bane went off at a run, then launched himself into a broad arching leap toward the outskirts of the camp. With shadows growing longer every second, he came down to land in a crouch, quickly spotting the black-armored monster moving casually toward the camp and his people. He could see the blazing red gaze of the thing from here. A squad of archers looked ready to loose a volley at the approaching demon, which would soon be within range of their bows, but Bane waved them back.

"Fall back to the heart of the camp and make ready to retreat!" Bane ordered and the men bowed quickly, and moved back into the tents.

The Dragonfang made certain they were out of sight before he turned to watch the monster's advance. The creature that was Garland moved forward almost casually, a huge black sword resting over one shoulder, red eyes blazing.

The half-moon glowed silver in the sky when Bane tightened the grip on his lance-tipped spear. He then ran and leapt into a high arc, before coming down at a severe angle, winds shrieking about him as he shot down toward the black-armored monster, the long sharp tip of his spear gleaming wickedly in the moonlight.

Garland saw him coming and brought his monstrous sword up to block the blow, and metal rang loudly on metal, bright sparks of crimson power showering them both from Garland's sorcerous steel.

Incredulous, Bane leapt back to land some distance from the monstrous knight. His blow had shattered swords and shields alike, had pierced armor like paper, yet Bane made out not even a nick upon Garland's weapon. "What are you, Garland?"

The Dark Knight laughed harshly. "I do not explain myself to insects." He went into a battle stance, and his eyes began to glow even more balefully through his visor. "Prepare for the Abyss, mortal." With that he swung his monstrous weapon down in a powerful slash that split the earth with a horrid boom.

Spires of earth jutted up from the ground in a line toward Bane, but he dodged through a plume of dust to the side, coming around the Knight's flank, his spear striking out like a serpent's tongue in rapid succession. For his size, Garland moved his blade with amazing speed, blocking each thrust with a clang of metal and shower of red sparks that lit the night before bringing his blade up and around to hammer down at the earth again. Bane had no choice but to leap back, but jumped again, diving through the air at an oblique angle behind Garland with fantastic speed, his spear thrust down to pierce the Knight's armor between the neck and shoulder.

As if he could see behind him, Garland pivoted and swung his demon blade about with impeccable timing, catching Bane just before he landed. The blow was powerful enough to hurl the Dragoon fifty feet away, where he struck the ground and rolled to a stop. Heavily dazed, the Lancer groaned, but managed to rise to one knee. He tasted blood in his mouth, and his helm was cracked, one of the wings broken off from the side.

Breathing raggedly, the dragoon's eyes widened as he looked down to see his spear mangled at his feet. He growled deep in his throat, managing to shake away lingering dizziness and took up his mangled weapon. Garland was coming for him, but slowly, as if he had all the time in the world.

It occurred to Bane then that Garland was toying with him, but he quickly suppressed the anger that such a realization brought, instead focusing on his weapon. He held it up before him in both hands and invoked the name of his deity. "By Bahamut's breath, let my fang be whole once more," he intoned and his mangled weapon glowed bright blue and winds surrounded him. When they dissipated, the Dragoon's spear was whole, and he launched himself forward in a shrieking thrust.

Again, Garland parried, but was the force of the thrust knocked him several steps back before he countered with a blow too powerful to be blocked. Bane had to dodge, as the ground split in another earth-rending boom, vaulting over the Dark Knight's head in a flip that brought him to the other's flank. However, before he got the chance to strike, Garland whirled his whole body, bringing his sword around in a blow so strong that the blast of power it generated slid the Dragoon back through the grass twenty feet. Bane had shied back just enough to avoid contact with that strike, but even the blast from it had been enough to stagger him. He fell to one knee, his head ringing, but heard another boom and rolled to the side as jutting spires of earth raced passed him, throwing up huge clods of dirt and grass.

Debris showered him, but Bane steadied his feet again as Garland stood poised. "I am getting bored with you, insect, and have so many of your people to slaughter before I return to my throne. I believe I will end this now." He lifted his demonic sword above his head and roared. Glowing red power lit up the night in a bright flash and suddenly streaks of bloody power shot from the sword to arc through the air, before converging to lance down toward the where the Dragoon stood.

Bane moved as explosions buffeted him, throwing earth everywhere. His helm cracked in two and fell from his head, before a bright flash filled his eyes, and he was knocked back into a roll. Somehow, bleeding from his ears and face, he managed his feet to run again, but more red arcs filled the sky before seeking him out, and Bane knew he had only one chance. As Garland stood still, summoning his dark magic, Bane ran toward him, just barely out-pacing explosion after explosion. His armor rent, his vision blurred, the Dragoon put all he had left into a single thrust of his spear, roaring like Lord Bahamut himself, as he shot forward –

And pierced the Dark Knight straight through the chest.

Bane felt the impact of the blow shuddering up his arms. His spear pierced metal, then flesh, then bone, its tip blowing out Garland's back to shower the earth behind with his blood. Now Garland staggered and fell to one knee, dropping his mighty sword to thud in the grass. Surprise blazed in his bloody eyes.

Bane let go of the spear, utterly exhausted, and staggered back himself, gulping in air. He rested his hands on his knees, but did not lower his eyes from Garland. "You shouldn't... have underestimated me... monster."

To his surprise, Garland laughed, though it ended in harsh coughing. "I am not finished yet, mortal." Suddenly, he gripped the haft of the spear sticking through him and began to pull it out. He roared in pain as he did so, but managed to pull the whole of the weapon free, covered in his blood, and tossed it to the ground contemptuously. "It will take more power than you possess to kill me." Then he managed to stand, much to Bane's amazement, a gaping hole through his torso, blood spilling down his front.

"Impossible!" Bane spat, and stood fully despite protestations of pain.

"Not so, mortal, and now you will become but another sacrifice to my power." He raised a clench fist and suddenly Bane doubled over as agony gripped his middle. It felt as if his guts were being pulled inside out, and he writhed upon the ground, growling and gnashing his teeth.

Ever so slowly, the hole in Garland's center began to fill, the organs growing back, knitting themselves together as he drained the life from the writhing Dragoon before him. "You are fortunate to have such an honor, mortal. Only those that wound me can die in such exultation."

"You... are... insane!" Bane shouted, but cried out after, his strength ebbing slowly but surely until he was no longer able to writhe, despite an increase in pain. As if he were being wrung in two giant hands, Bane's flesh split, his bones snapped, and his organs were crushed to jelly...

And then he died.

Garland stood, taking up his monstrous sword. He gazed down upon the twisted corpse before him, drained of life, crushed utterly, and suddenly felt a pang of regret. He crushed it ruthlessly, however, and a smile creased the blood-stained lips beneath his helm as he turned toward the imperial camp.

What time Bane had bought with his life had not been enough. The remaining Imperial Dragoons all gave their lives to see the rest of the army escape, and Garland did not pursue them once he was far enough from the temple for it to call out to him. He returned and sat upon his throne once more, daring fate to do its worst. He had no intention of giving in to destiny, none at all. He would live forever more, growing stronger with time until he was what he had once been. Then, all life would end by his hand.

**IIIIIIIIII**

It was dawn on the third day of travel when the black ship landed before the temple. Princess Sarah still could not believe how fast the vessel was. What should have taken at least eight days upon the fastest airship, and more than a month on foot, had taken so short a time.

Such a thought flew right from her head when she disembarked with Marilith and Tiamat, to see the ruined corpses of what had undoubtedly been her army, her people. Crows, ravens, and vultures filled the skies, gorging themselves on such a feast, and here and there, wailing corpses walked, shunned by the carrion eaters.

With both hands to her mouth, Sarah collapsed to her knees, tears streaking down her cheeks.

Marilith shook her helmed head. "I cannot believe this, but it may work in our favor all the more."

Tiamat put her hands on her hips. "It may, or it may drive the King completely mad with fear. Highland has no force to stop an invasion from the Empire now."

Marilith looked down at the princess with an unpleasant smile. "I suppose you can just toss the scepter away now, Princess. There is no use for it here."

Sarah did not hear her. Marilith frowned at her, then looked to Tiamat. "Have your men bring her with us. I want to have this done and be back in the capital as soon as possible."

Tiamat gave her an amused grin. "Do you think this will be easy with Garland this strong now? Do you think he will still be biddable?"

Marilith gave her a scathing glare but did not bother to answer before striding forward into the charnel grounds. Tiamat chuckled before calling two large sailors among her thralls down to haul the princess with them as she moved to follow Marilith.

The Fiend of Wind summoned blasts of air to batter away clusters of carrion eaters from their path, while The Fiend of Fire unsheathed her falchions, wreathed in flame, to cut apart any zombies that came across them. The princess was carried in their wake, unable to see anything, listless now, with tears still leaking from her eyes.

In little time they went into the entrance of the temple, and within the immaculate throne room, Garland stood to greet them. Tiamat's two slaves turned to stone almost immediately, though Garland raised a hand and the Break did not effect Sarah, where she sagged to a heap upon the crystalline floor, still seeing nothing.

Tiamat glared up at Garland, her long blond hair billowing around her. "What is the meaning of this, Garland?"

Marilith merely stood with contempt upon her face, crossing her arms. "What are you up to?"

Garland left his monstrous black sword laying next to his throne and descended the dais slowly. "Is that how you greet an old friend, Fiends of Wind and Fire? I thought you would be overjoyed to see me."

A cold look crossed Tiamat's face and her chin raised. "I no longer sense the strength of the dark power within you, Garland. Explain this."

The Dark Knight laughed contemptuously. "That is because it had gone beyond your ability to sense, Tiamat" He stopped at the foot of the dais and raised a hand. "But, please, no more foolish comments or demands, and I will explain to you what is to happen now."

Marilith clenched the hilts of her blades. "How dare you talk to us, thus, fool! Shall I teach you a lesson?"

Garland only laughed again. "Teach away, Marilith, transform and show me the error of my ways."

To her astonishment, Marilith could not, and an inkling of fear suddenly crept into the back of her mind, though she stepped on it hard. "You cannot possibly be this powerful."

The Dark Knight only looked at her, eyes blazing through his helm. "I have remembered many things from before, things I had forgotten. I know now that I sent you into the future so that you could complete my spell and send me into the past now, when I lack the full power to do so myself. Of course, I have no need to go into the past anymore, not with my strength growing. Oh no, I will stay here and destroy the present world. The time is ripening. I managed to corrupt the Crystals long ago, but it has taken thousands of years for them to come to this point, where their resistance is nearly finished."

He paused for a moment, gesturing grandly at the beauty of the throne room all about. "The barrier of time is weaker here and I have linked to my past incarnation. Maybe you all meant to be my master in this time, with me so much weaker now, but alas, that is not to be. Besides, you cannot change what has already happened. I know that now, as will you. We must move ahead if there is to be any change. Here in the present, we can make a new fate."

Tiamat looked to Marilith where the Lady General quivered with outrage, then stood very straight and gave Garland a shrewd look. "What will you do with us four, Garland?"

Beneath his helm, the Knight smiled wickedly. "No more power games among the humans for you, I'm afraid. You four will guard the Crystals, while I sit here and grow stronger."

Marilith's tone was withering. "Guard the Crystals? Guard them from whom?"

Garland made a sound of disgust and looked to Tiamat. "You know, don't you, Lady Tiam?"

Marilith glared at her, and Tiamat hesitated. "...Some, though I must confess that the Lich is the only true scholar amongst us."

"What are you babbling about, Tiamat?" Marilith said angrily.

"The..." Tiamat licked her lips, "the Light Warriors..."

Marilith barked a dismissive laugh. "Impossible, they are dead thousands of years by now."

Garland shook his head, hatred dripping from his words. "You know nothing, Marilith! Nothing beyond your lust for blood. You never have, always too arrogant, too confident in your own prowess."

The Fiend of Fire's fists clenched until they shook. Her voice was a low growl. "Explain this to me."

Garland looked to Tiamat. "Tell her what you know."

The Fiend of Wind knew there was no point in further defiance and nodded. "Very well. I have sent minions to _deal_ with the Chosen of Wind. He has risen, and has in his possession an orb. What this artifact is, I am not certain, but..." She paused to take a long breath. "There is reason for me to fear its power."

Garland nodded. "As well you should, Tiamat, as well you should. The orbs are the last attempt at defiance from the Crystals. Long ago, they set events in motion that I was ignorant of even then. I am ignorant no longer. I will destroy the Light Warriors here, in this temple, where I grow stronger each passing day."

Marilith did not understand, but straightened and gazed fiercely at Garland. "What if you fail?"

She had wished for an outburst of rage, but Garland simply shrugged. "Then you four will be compelled to send me back, completing my spell, after which it will be up to you to stop them at the Crystals themselves."

Tiamat gave a slight shake of her head. "But you said the past cannot be changed."

Garland did not answer before fixing them both. "We are done speaking. I will teleport the four of you to the Crystals where you will guard them with your lives."

They both looked to argue further, but Garland made a gesture, summoning his power, and they both disappeared in clouds of billowing shadow. The Lich and Kraken would have as well, wherever they were, a powerful and compelling spell that exhausted Garland after it was cast. Still, with the Fiends gone from the throne room, he walked up to tower over Princess Sarah where she huddled upon the floor, arms crossed before her chest.

She looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. "Garland, how could you do this?"

Her pained accusation unlocked something within him and he sighed wearily. "I had no choice, Sarah. Now come, it is time for you to rest."


	13. The Four Arise

**The Four Arise**

A hint of light filtered in through a window overhead, falling over Valor Loftlan's sleeping features. Immediately, he stirred, one sleepy blue eye half-opening before he cringed and rested a beefy forearm over his face.

Full wakefulness took a little more time in coming, as he tossed and turned a bit, before his eyes snapped open and he jerked upright to fling off the quilted comforter. Quickly, he surveyed his surroundings, finding himself in what seemed to be a narrow rectangular bedroom with plain slat-board floors and plastered walls. It seemed there were three other small beds besides his own in the room, each harboring a sleeping individual.

Wiping sleep from his eyes, Valor swung his legs over the side, quickly aware that he wore only loose linen breeches cinched with a linen sash. His chest was bare, his shoulder-length brown hair loose, its silver highlights glowing in the early morning light from the square window over his bed.

He stood, wondering where he was when he noticed the blond girl he had seen so briefly before in the bed next to his. She slept peacefully, her breathing slow, her pretty face serene in slumber. Her long blond hair flowed down over the comforter that was tucked up to her chin.

Valor sighed and wiped a hand over his face, glad he had not awakened her with his thrashing. He had no idea who she was, his most recent memories blurred. He felt, however, that she was important, powerfully so, though this same feeling welled up for his own presence, and realization came to him.

"I am Chosen, as is she," he whispered to himself. Yes, the Chosen of Water, that is who this girl was, just as he was the Chosen of Earth.

Curiously, the young man moved passed the girl's bed and couldn't help but smile at the occupant of the next bed over. It was a wolf-lean young man with sun-brown skin and a head of raven black hair. He wore only a plain sleeveless linen tunic, his breeches much like Valor's own. He seemed to sleep quite fitfully, having kicked his comforter off, and grasping his pillow before him, biting it, one leg twitching.

That same sense of importance flowed from this strange young fellow as it did from the blond girl. Another Chosen then and Valor had no doubt about it. The four were gathered here, in this unassuming room. A strong determination overcame him and he went to the fourth bed to gaze upon the final Chosen.

She was a small girl, perhaps no older than any of the others, himself included. She was slender and even shorter than the other two. It seemed Valor himself was the only one that was tall. She slept in a strange sleeveless tunic of what seemed to be beast-hide, with breeches of buckskin. She slept on her back, rod-straight, her mouth pulled down in a scowl. Her comforter was nowhere to be seen despite a slight chill in the room. Her hair was short and fiery orange, but most strangely of all, however, was a narrow black mask she wore over closed eyes. Was she some kind of bandit? That seemed impossible. Why would the crystals choose a lawbreaker as one their champions? From her, Valor sensed a slight warmth as well as the same feeling of great importance.

Afterward, he sighed, and went back to his bed, setting down on it to think. He was sixteen today, an adult as far as tradition was concerned in the Kingdom. His father had trained him, and had had him trained by others after his death for what was to come on this day and what was to follow after. Valor remembered his vow to his father and his fists clenched. He would not fail.

"You seem troubled," came a gentle voice and the young man started. The blond girl turned her head, her large hazel eyes opening as she gazed at him.

Suddenly, Valor was very conscious of being half-naked and moved to cover himself with the comforter, but the girl did not even seem to notice, her head turning back to stare at the ceiling. Her gaze held uncertainty.

"You seem so as well," he replied, simply cupping his hands in his lap.

There was quiet between them for minutes before she answered. "I never wanted this duty. I only wanted to be the best White Mage I could be. I only wanted to help people."

Valor glanced down, filled with his own uncertainty. He fought off his fears, however, looking over to her determinedly. "You will be helping people, all of them. The entire world is depending upon us."

She looked over again, with a sad smile on her lips. "I am Sana-Lynn Atha, White Mage, and clergy of the Order of the White Staff. I suppose I am also the Chosen of Water."

Valor returned her smile with a slight one of his own. "I am Valor Loftlan of House Loftlan, son of Vinter and Aria, a trained fighter versed in weapons and armor... and the Chosen of Earth."

The girl nodded. "Nice to meet you, Sir Valor."

He scratched his head, a slight heating to his face. "I am no knight. Please, just call me Valor."

She giggled a little. "Very well, Valor, please just call me Sana."

He smiled. "Very well, Sana, I shall."

Afterward, the girl sat up, draped in plain linen robes, and turned her head to look in the other direction. "Do you have any idea who this boy is, the one that looks like he's trying to eat his pillow?"

"Another Chosen, Sana, as is the last in the other bed over. We are all here... the four."

The blond girl brushed loose bangs from her forehead, looking down. "So the time has come," she whispered, though more to herself than to Valor, he suspected.

Seeming to summon courage, the girl pushed off her comforter and stood from the bed, taking in the whole of the long narrow room. "We are not in Cornelia," she announced.

Valor looked at her, but knew she was right. There was no buzz here, like there was in the city. Even on his secluded estate, Valor had still been able to hear the buzz of daily business, even this early in the morning, from the market districts in the White City. "Do you know where we are?"

The girl suddenly looked pensive, but shook her head. "No, I don't. Yet, we must be someplace safe. We were with the Headmaster and your mother when we collapsed."

Valor remembered that now. "Yes, you are right. It seems like a country inn, perhaps. There are many small villages radiating out from Cornelia in every direction for miles."

Sana put a finger to her chin. "I wonder how long we've been unconscious."

Valor nodded. Truly, this girl was insightful. "Yes, it must have been some time if we were moved out beyond the city to this place. It might just be a small roadside inn. Why here is the question."

Before they could consider further, a rasping snore turned into a snort and the black-haired boy on the other bed started choking... which promptly woke him. Valor stood to see the boy spring up on his bed, immediately alert, his sharp dark eyes slightly tilted. He crouched upon the bed defensively. Sana stared at him too.

"What in the bloody blazing realm am I doing here? Where is this place? Who the hellfire are you two, and why are you staring at me like I'm a talking ox." He paused just long enough to look down at himself. "Where are my clothes? Where are my knives? Why does my mouth taste like feathers? Somebody answer me!"

A heated voice did answer as the occupant of the final bed shot up. "You fool monkey bastard! Why are you yelling at the top of your lungs?" She paused long enough to look down at herself, and growled. "Where the hellfire are my robes? Where's my rod? By the gods, I will have answers, or this place is burning down!" To Valor's surprise strange orange lights suddenly wreathed her, blazing almost as brightly as her glowing eyes.

Sana's reaction was not what Valor expected when she saw the masked girl. "Black Mage," she snarled, her fists clenched as if she held a weapon before her. "What are you doing here?"

The black-haired boy looked between the two women as they gazed hate at each other, but he just folded his arms. "Hey, you two, don't start a cat-fight with me in the middle, okay." Valor winced, as both the girls shifted their glares to the boy, but the other wasn't finished. He stood from bed, jabbing a finger at the masked girl. "I remember you. I thanked you in the warehouse, and you tried to charbroil me! What's wrong with you?"

The masked girl snarled. "Out of the way, monkey, I have a score to settle with the fool White Mage behind you!"

The boy's face darkened, but he quickly turned with a look of wonder at Sana-Lynn. "White Mage... wait, she called you a Black Mage. Wait, I thought mages were just scholars or something."

The masked girl shoved him out of the way, jabbing a finger at Sana across the bed. "You _must_ be a White Mage, I can smell the stink of it on you."

Sana's face tightened, her tone decidedly cold. "That would be your own corruption you're smelling, fiend. I swear that I will not allow you harm anyone."

Valor raised his voice as he came between them. "That is enough, all of you!" Immediately, three pairs of eyes swung toward him, all glaring indignantly, even Sana-Lynn. Suddenly uncomfortable, he cleared his throat and pressed on. "We are the Chosen of the Crystals, all four of us. That is as much as I can say for now. I don't know where we are, and I don't know what happened to our belongings, but we must all calm down."

The masked girl gave a contemptuous snort. "Ha, you weak fools are Chosen, you must be joking."

Sana glared at her. "Valor is not joking, Black Mage. He speaks the truth. I am Sana-Lynn Atha, the Chosen of Water, and he is Valor Loftlan, Chosen of Earth."

The masked girl frowned with disbelief, folding her arms. She didn't say anything though. The black-haired boy did. "What in the bloody bowls of the Abyss are you weenies babbling about?" He shut his mouth afterward though, seeming to remember something himself. His voice became flat. "Right, I'm the Chosen of Wind. The name's Gantz. We're all bloody fools, by the way."

The masked girl growled like a beast. She looked up at the boy, Gantz, jabbing a finger in his face so quickly that he jerked back. "How dare you talk to me thus, you bloody monkey. If I had my rod, you would be nothing but ash that I'd grind under my heel!"

The boy regained himself and scowled, but just folded his arms contemptuously. "Yeah, sure you would, missy. If I had my knives, I'd turn you into mage-kabob before you could even try."

Sana-Lynn shook her head. "She's more dangerous than you can imagine, Gantz. All Black Mages deal with evil, destructive magics. There is no way she can be Chosen of the Crystals."

The masked girl gave a wicked laugh. "That's right, lesser mage, be afraid. For all your fool notions, however, I am the Chosen of Fire, whether you want to see what's plain before you or not. My name is Robin Magus, and I am the doom of you and your kind!"

Sana replied with an unpleasant grin. "That's not what the histories say."

Valor put his hands up. "Please, enough of this. We are allies, whether we want to admit it or not." He looked to Gantz and Robin. "You two have your orbs, correct?"

Gantz checked his person. "Damn it all, where is the bloody thing? Wait, I had it in my backpack. Who in the realm took our stuff? Was it you, Sir Muscles?"

Valor's face reddened a bit, and his back stiffened with indignation. "I have never stolen a thing in my life. I have no idea where our belongings are, but I mean to find out."

Gantz frowned at him. "You're a snotty noble aren't you. Yep, I can tell, your nose in the air and all. Every noble I've ever met acts like they have a stave shoved up their bung."

Valor's fists clenched of their own accord. "And what are you then, _Master_ Gantz, some kind of vulgar circus performer? I heard you mention knives, do you swallow them?"

Gantz took a sharp step forward, his own fists clenched. "I'll make you swallow one, you bloody blue blooded bastard!"

Valor's face went white. "How dare you, you wretched urchin!"

Gantz grinned insolently. "Oh my, _Lord_ Valor, is this little urchin getting under you skin?" He barked a laugh.

Meanwhile, Sana-Lynn and Robin Magus stood off to one side, glaring at each other. "You fool lesser mage, how can it be that you are Chosen of the Crystals? I didn't think any of them so weak."

Sana narrowed her eyes. "Your kind caused the destruction of entire cities and threatened civilization itself with your evil ways. If you knew anything about history, you would know that you are a blight on the world."

Robin shook her head, almost sadly. "Oh, you poor diluted fool. Your version of history is as skewed as your claims to power. Your self-righteous lot attacked my people without hesitation, claiming we were witches and fiends. We did nothing but fight back, and you drove us from our home! I will be damned if anything we did can't be laid at your feet, you dim blasted chit!"

Quickly, all four of them were in a circle, arguing at the top of their lungs, when suddenly their voices vanished from their throats. It took them only seconds to realize it and they stopped arguing. Quickly, Valor noticed two individuals that had entered the room from a stairwell at the far corner. The others did as well, and turned.

Dalton Samar tried to hide an amused grin by stroking his beard, though Aria Loftlan was all poise in an elaborate blue silk dress. The old Headmaster wore plain linen robes, much like Sana-Lynn with no triangles at the hem, though he carried his old ashen staff. "I apologize, young ones, but I had to Mute you. We rented the whole of the inn, but there are still others about, the staff and owner and such down below. Somethings you were saying must not be known until the right time. Of course, that time is very soon."

Valor forced his anger at Gantz away and unclenched his fists. He _had_ been a fool, letting the skinny urchin goad him like that. Still, he did not like the boy. Gantz glared up at him, before turning to profile and folding his arms angrily. It seemed the feeling was mutual. Sana-Lynn looked chastened at the Headmaster's words, looking down, though she did spare an irate glance at the Black Mage next to her. Robin herself quivered in silent fury, her jaw tight, her eyes blazing. The strange lights around her had winked out upon becoming Muted, however.

Aria looked to them all, her face smooth. Valor knew she was upset as she met his eyes. She had likely expected better from him, as he should have himself. He had _tried_ to calm everyone down. If it hadn't been for Gantz, he would never have lost his temper.

His mother spoke. "I suppose it was prudent to remove your weapons, if this is the kind of uproar you were going to start. Now, like it or not, the four of you have been given the most important duty in this world, and I would have expected you to act a little more like what you are, rather than small children with toothaches."

All of them tried to protest, Gantz and Robin angrily, but the spell was still in place, their voices gone. Aria said nothing further, but came forward. To each, she gave a small wooden box which fit in the palm of their hands, though Robin snatched hers away from his mother, glaring at her. Gantz wasn't much better, though he was looking at the box in his hands doubtfully. Sana looked wary, and Valor knew he wore resolve like a mask.

Aria stepped back, folding her hands down before her as Dalton came up to stand next to her. "We have your equipment in separate rooms where you may change. Make no mistake, you _are_ the four Light Warriors, Chosen of the Crystals, and Champions of the Dawn. Now, if you would continue to doubt, then open the lids of those boxes and have it be made utterly clear to you where your destiny lies." With a quick incantation under his breath, the Headmaster released the Mute spell.

Valor found his voice returned. The others must have as well, but instead of the outbursts he had expected, a tense silence hung over the other three, as they stared at the boxes in their hands. Valor nodded curtly and opened his box first, depositing the Orb of Earth in his hand. Immediately there was a muted flash and the orb glowed with a solid yellow light. He looked to the others. "I am Valor Loftlan, the Chosen of Earth."

With an angry growl, Robin Magus opened the lid of her box and dumped the orb into her palm. Defiantly, she raised her hand before her and the orb suddenly flared with a blazing orange-red light. "I am Robin Magus, the Chosen of Fire," she spat, then glared at the others as if to dare them to dispute her.

Sana-Lynn sighed wearily, but opened the lid of her box next and plucked the Orb of Water from it. She then held it out before her and the orb slowly came alive with a coruscating sapphire glow, nearly as serene as the words she spoke next: "I am Sana-Lynn Atha, the Chosen of Water."

Gantz looked at them all as if hunted, wiping his free hand down his face before finally opening the lid of his box and holding forth his orb. A gray-green light flickered and flared and a small burst of wind buffeted the others before dissipating. Hesitantly, he spoke: "Yeah, um... I'm the Chosen of Wind... I guess. The name's Gantz, in case you missed it the first time."

After they all had spoken, the orbs glowed brighter, until the individual colors were gone, replaced by a pure white light that filled the bedroom.

_With the Dawn you arise..._

_To go forth with our blessing..._

_Our salvation secure in your souls..._

_You, the Champions of all life..._

_The Warriors of Light._

Afterward, the light faded, and there were no words to be said. They all just stood, awe shining in their eyes. Valor knew his gaze was no different, his blue eyes fixed on the orb in his hand, dormant now. A sudden weight settled about his shoulders, and fear tried to weigh him down, to muddle his mind, but he gritted his teeth in sheer determination and the sensation fled. No, it did not just flee, it was destroyed, dissipating around him as if his sudden awareness of it was a catalyst that dissolved it. "Be gone!" he said.

Sana-Lynn spoke with a quiet dignity. "You will have no power over me."

Robin roared. "I am the one _you_ shall fear!"

Gantz grinned wickedly. "You don't stand a chance, now."

Valor blinked afterward, a little dizzy, but suddenly he felt weightless, as if he were floating. With this feeling flowing through him, his blue eyes hardened with his soul's resolve. He looked over at Dalton and his mother, then at the other three Light Warriors. "Come, we must prepare."

They all looked at him with a similar resolve hard in their eyes and nodded.

**IIIIIIIIII**

That strange sensation had left Sana-Lynn feeling almost giddy. She had realized it was the Crystal of Water trying to buoy her, to wash her fears away. In its weakened state, however, the Crystal could only do so much and all Sana's doubts had returned. She knew then that her inner trials were only just beginning. The Crystal would help her as it could, but Sana would have to find her own way free of her fears.

She stood in a single bedroom across a narrow hall from the others. She was alone in here, the traditional clothes of her order laid out on the small bed before her. Her ashen bow and quiver of arrows leaned against one wall, her ashen staff against another. She removed the plain sleeping robes and began dressing, her mind distant all the while.

She wasn't fully certain of what she felt about the other three. Robin Magus angered her, and not just because she was so abrasive. How could a Black Mage be Chosen? The history she had studied for so long had painted the Black Mages as vile and twisted sorcerers that killed without compunction, causing havoc and destruction on unprecedented scales before Alexander Samar had led the first White Mages against them, to save civilization.

Sana shook her head, still in disbelief of the Black Mage's inclusion, as she pulled on the knee-high white boots over her bleached breeches. She then pulled the white supertunic over her head before settling the sturdy white cloak about her shoulders, red triangles sewn all along its hem.

The black mage aside, Sana-Lynn thought she could trust Valor Loftlan completely. The Chosen of Earth seemed to radiate trustworthiness and strength, a solidity she could not help but admire. Yet, he had his doubts as well, she had sensed that much about him.

A small smile touched her lips when she thought of Gantz. He just seemed... humorous. If Valor was some type of fighter, trained in martial combat, she wondered what Gantz was. He had never said, though he had mentioned knives. Perhaps another type of fighter. She herself had only limited martial training, with the staff and maces. Her bow was the only weapon she felt she would be truly competent with in an actual battle. Above all, it would be the Holy that was her greatest ally, the source that granted her access to white magic.

Trying to gather her resolve, Sana secured her bow and quiver, then took up her white staff. Afterward, she went toward the door to meet the others. To meet destiny.

**IIIIIIIIII**

Gantz shook his head furiously. It was all their fault, dammit! They had tricked him into this! He didn't want to have anything to do with grumpy crystals, or ancient prophecies, or the gods alone knew what else he would get dragged into. He still didn't know what it really meant to be a Light Warrior, except for the fact that he was gonna have to deal with a pushy, uptight, noble all throughout it.

The boy growled. Valor – could there be a more pretentious name! – Loftlan was probably a knight or something like it. If he thought nobles were bad, knights were ten times worse. Touchy, bombastic bastards the whole lot of them, and he was supposed to go on some kind of quest with one? Well, that was just bloody wonderful!

Gantz ground his teeth. Not him, oh no, if bloody Valor Loftlan thought Gantz was gonna hunker down and toady to him, he had another thing coming. The boy suddenly smiled. The pompous fool would probably have apoplexy when he found out Gantz was a Master Thief. He would probably splutter about the law and whatnot and try to arrest Gantz then and there. Every other knight he had ever run across had tried to do the same, if they didn't just try to stick a bloody sword through him.

"Bloody blue blooded bastard!" he growled, then sighed and looked at the small bed before him. His dark clothing was there, freshly laundered, and he removed his plain linen garments to get dressed.

Anyway, the bloody noble aside, he knew he didn't like the masked girl – Robin was her name. If Valor had a bow-stave shoved up his bum, she must have a bloody battle-axe shoved up hers, and twisted besides. She was always yelling and quivering with rage. By the gods, she looked like she might explode anytime. It was hard to trust any of that sort, not that he trusted any of them really, but the Black Mage made him nervous. He had already seen what she could do, and he knew he couldn't let his guard down around her.

He supposed he was some kind of fool hero now, so he didn't bother wrapping the black coif around his face. Instead, he took the dark cloth and wrapped it about the top of his head like a scarf, covering his hair and knotting it at the back of his head. He then shrugged himself into the dark leather cuirass, as well as greaves and fingerless gauntlets that still allowed him good dexterity. He couldn't wear his vest over the armor, so he simply put his thieves tools in a leather case in his backpack before strapping it tightly to his back. His throwing knives were already in place all about him, and he sheathed his dual long knives at their traditional places, one over each hip.

Afterward, he stood, wearing black from head to toe and thought about the White Mage. Sana-Lynn seemed decent enough, and she was pretty to boot. He still didn't trust her, since he had only thought the people in the White Temple were just scholars that studied old tomes all day long. If they were actually mage mages, then they must have some kind of power. It was something Gantz had no experience with and that meant he would watch Sana-Lynn just as closely as he did the other mage.

Shaking his head wearily, the boy moved toward the door, dreading what was to come.

**IIIIIIIIII**

In his own bedroom, Valor felt another weight settle over his shoulders. Not the strange fear from before, but duty, heavier than he had ever felt it. It was a boulder on his back, but he would carry it resolutely no matter what came. That was the vow to his father, that was what it entailed.

He was already dressed in the under-suit that was provided. It was red-dyed leather, over which he fit a plain breastplate, securing its straps before adding faulds about his waist, an armored belt so to speak. His pauldrons were cinched in place, covering his shoulders, plain unworked steel like his breastplate. Afterward, he added greaves and sabatons over his boots, then strapped the steel gauntlets over his forearms and hands.

As he took up a sheathe that held a plain-hilted bastard sword, his eyes narrowed at the thought of Gantz. He really did not like the boy. There was just something smug about him. That one was too sure of himself by half. Valor didn't even know what Gantz did, but he had a feeling it was not good. That feeling alone made him nearly incredulous that the boy could be Chosen of the Crystals.

Valor sighed as he took up a plain kite shield, its face painted white with a rampant black bull upon its center. Robin Magus would be a trial, there was no doubt about it. Headstrong to the point of rage at anyone that might think they knew better than her, she would get them all into trouble. She was the type to laugh off danger, and Valor didn't know if there was a bone of caution in her body. Oh, she was honorable, he was certain, but her brand of honor was a scathing prickly sort. Valor had the feeling he would be fighting her nearly as much as any foes. She really didn't seem the type to work with others, even incidentally.

As he headed for the door, he thought again of Sana-Lynn. She seemed the most stable of the other three, perhaps even more so than himself. There was a gentle strength in her, he had sensed as much when the orbs had shone, something serene yet inexorable. But there was fear as well. He could not blame her, of course, he had his own worries to contend with. This was all still so huge and he had no idea what to expect.

Regardless, he placed the iron circlet upon his brow to hold his hair back, then went through the door to meet his destined charges once again.

**IIIIIIIIII**

Robin slammed her door shut with, before going up to the bed and pounding it with her fists till her arms ached. Fools, every bloody blasted one of them!

She snatched her robes from the bed and fit them upon her, before placing the wide-brimmed peaked hat upon her head. She barely noticed that her robes were new dark cloth, and that her black hat was no longer worn. Instead, she grabbed her charred rod and the sigils of fire immediately flared up about her. She quivered there, her rod gripped so tightly in both hands that they shook.

How dare they. How _dare_ they!

That White Mage, a bloody stupid fool, self-righteous and totally assured that the blather she had spouted was anywhere near the truth! Dim blasted bloody fool! She would learn, however. Oh yes, that foolish nit would feel the true wrath of a Black Mage and she would quail before it!

Then there was that blasted monkey, threatening to turn her into what – mage-kabob! Ha! If anyone was going to do any cooking, it was she, that fool's boasts notwithstanding. That her lightning could not effect him was a trifle, yet maddening all the same. She would freeze his worthless hide in place, then burn him to ash where he stood. She would like to see that monkey try and jump around then!

And that other bloody fool, the one she had been searching for all this time; the Chosen of Earth. She had thought if there was one of other the three that had sense, it might have been him, but apparently she'd been quite wrong. Trying to give her orders, like she was some sort of dumb bumpkin in from her country farm! The very thought made her shake furiously.

She would teach them all where true power lie, and when Robin finished strapping her leather sandals about her feet and shins, she stalked toward the door with a mind to do just that.


	14. According to Prophecy

**According to Prophecy**

The time had come...

Sana-Lynn could feel it pressing down upon her. She shrugged uncomfortably, gripping her long white staff for reassurance as she left her room and moved down the narrow hall of the inn. Never before had the white cloak, felt so heavy upon her shoulders. Instinctively, she wanted to pull the hood up, to hide from what was to come, but she did not.

At the end of the hall, she walked down a narrow flight of stairs, taking each step hesitantly. She looked over the rail below, realizing she was the last to arrive. It seemed she had been the least resolved of the four, but that was only in her mind, and she would not give it purchase.

For a simple roadside inn, the place was rather large, with two dozen rooms, and a huge common below, which sprawled out below her. All the small round tables had been pushed back against the walls, to make room for a long rectangular table to be set in the center of the room.

Everyone below looked up at her as she came down the stairs. No one spoke, but there was a definite tension in the air. Gantz gave her a quick glance where he stood off to the side from the others, leaning against the wall, arms folded. He looked down just as quick and frowned at the floor, seemingly preoccupied. He was dressed in dark leather armor, like an archer, or that military scout Sana had once seen. Sure enough, he had two long knives sheathed over his hips. He must be some kind of fighter, and Sana could not deny an air of... quickness... which surrounded him, even as he simply stood there.

Robin glared up at her, gripping a strange black stick tightly, standing almost defiantly at the table. She was now shrouded in black robes with a strange peaked hat. She said nothing, but Sana-Lynn felt her own gaze hardening in mutual animosity before she forced herself to stop. Robin was not her enemy, no matter what the other thought. It wouldn't be easy working with her, however, Sana knew that instinctively.

Valor gave her a simple nod, as an equal to an equal, though his blue eyes were troubled, despite his otherwise stolid presence. He wore plain armor over a red bodysuit, bearing the undeniable air of a trained warrior. The Headmaster stood next to him, smiling up at Sana through his long white beard. The woman Aria stood to the other side of Valor, a regal statuesque woman with stunningly silver hair, though her face was barely lined and quite beautiful. She was Valor's noble mother, and Sana could see the resemblance around the eyes. The woman gave her a reassuring nod, as if to coax her from the stairs, and Sana's face flushed as she realized she had stopped half way.

She hurried down the rest of the way and came up to stand near the others. She heard bustling in the kitchens behind a bar on the far wall of the common room. Apparently the innkeeper and staff where working hard. Her stomach growled, and she hoped they were making breakfast.

"Good of you to join us, Sana-Lynn," Aria said simply.

"You took your sweet time, lesser mage. A pity I must work with such a coward," Robin growled, and despite herself, Sana-Lynn's eyes widened in anger.

"Enough of that," Dalton Samar said, looking at the Black Mage. "Do not deny that you have your own fears, Robin Magus."

"I deny nothing!" she snapped. "I fear that working with such fools will be the death of me before I am ever able fulfill my destiny."

Dalton smiled sagely. "An evasion, Chosen of Fire. Lying to yourself will only make you weaker in the long run. All of you are uncertain, you are too young to be otherwise, especially with what has been placed upon your shoulders. That is enough to give any veteran pause, yet it is yours to bear."

Robin muttered angrily under her breath, but said nothing further.

Aria looked over at Gantz where he leaned against the wall. "Would you also care to join us, young Gantz?"

The boy looked up, his dark eyes wary. "I can hear you just fine from here."

"As you wish," Aria replied.

Dalton gave them all a significant look. "You four _are_ the Light Warriors, there is no doubt about that. This inn is a half a day south of Cornelia, just hours east of the main road. From here, I can feel the Veil of Darkness coalescing over the White City, trying to choke it. A great evil stirs, an evil only the four of you together can dispel." He stopped, nodding to Valor, who nodded back.

The Chosen of Earth looked to them all. "I am a cousin of King Highland, and it is he that we must go to first. He will put us on the first step of our journey." Aria nodded confirmation at his side.

For some reason, Gantz snorted derisively after he finished and Valor clenched his jaw. It was Dalton who spoke again, however. "After we are finished here, you will have some time to get to know one another better. This is essential if you are to work together. Believe me, no matter what each of you thinks, none of you can do this alone. The Four Light Warriors must work as one, or they will fail. It was the same with the legendary Light Warriors so long ago, and it must also be so with you."

Different looks passed between them all at that statement, Sana was no exception. Despite herself, glares passed between her and Robin, and she noticed the same for Gantz and Valor. All in all, the sum total of all those looks was dubious at best.

Dalton continued. "All of you have skills, as well as Blessings of the Crystals. I can sense this much, but please, for edification, I would like each of you to explain what it is you are versed in." He looked to Sana first. "Please, Sister Atha, we shall start with you."

Now it was Robin that snorted derisively, but Sana ignored her, standing up as straight as she could. "Our magic is that of healing and protection, and I have studied long in the libraries of the White Temple. I can heal grievous wounds in a matter of seconds, cleanse poisons and disease, provide protection from physical blows as well as magic, and my skill will only grow with time. I also have knowledge of history and legends, which may be of some use in our journey."

Robin Magus laughed contemptuously. "Knowledge of history? Ha, a fool joke if I've ever heard one."

Sana found herself growling, but Dalton forestalled her retort. "I have studied far longer than Sana-Lynn, Robin Magus, and I can assure you that the ancient war between us mages was both of our faults."

Sana looked shocked. "No, Headmaster, it cannot be! Black Mages are vile." At the same time, Robin snarled: "You are as much a fool as any White Mage, and I will not believe you!"

Dalton only shook his head. "The both of you may believe what you will, but I have put the pieces together after much consideration and study. Forget the past, you two, and concentrate on working together now."

Valor was looking thoughtful. "Such a power will be quite useful, Sana, vital even. In fact, I do not see how we could possibly survive without it. We will be doing a great deal of fighting, I fear."

Sana-Lynn gave him a grateful look, and he gave her a small smile in return. She also caught what she believed was a thoughtful nod from Gantz.

Dalton nodded. "Very well." He looked to Robin. "And you?"

Though it was hard to tell under all that concealment, Sana was certain the Black Mage smiled. There was definite pride in her voice. "I wield black magic, nature's wrath at my beck and call. I can summon fire in a variety of forms to burn, can call ice and frozen winds to hold and freeze. I can conjure lightning and fry even the swiftest of creatures..." She paused, glaring at Gantz, who replied with an insolent grin. "My power is inborn and ever-growing." She stopped, considering. "Also, I have lived in the wilderness my whole life, and have hunted and been hunted by a variety of creatures. I have knowledge of these beasts as well as woodcraft."

Aria nodded. "Very useful, I would say."

Valor nodded in agreement. "Yes, outside of Highland and the Dragon Empire, there are few civilized places known in the world. Your power and knowledge will also be vital, Robin Magus."

The Black Mage snorted. "Of course it will be, fool, I didn't need you to tell me that."

Valor just sighed.

Dalton grinned, but looked to him. "And you, young Valor. What is it that you specialize in?"

The boy's blue eyes hardened. "I have trained nearly everyday my whole life with weaponry; swords, maces, bows and spears. Any weapon you can imagine, I have likely studied. I have recently served in the army and fought goblins, and I know something of military discipline and tactics."

Gantz laughed dismissively from where he leaned against the wall. "So, you're gonna teach us all how to be uptight prigs, is that it? Count me out, _Lord_ Bunghole."

Valor quivered, but as before with Sana, Dalton forestalled him. "Can you not see the benefit of having a master of weapons with you on your journey, Gantz?"

The boy shrugged. "Not really, my knives have never let me down once. Besides, carrying a whole bloody arsenal around with me would only slow me down."

Valor replied curtly: "I do not carry a whole arsenal, you scoundrel, only –"

Again, Dalton cut him short. "Calm yourself, Valor. Anyhow, Gantz, what is it you do?"

A smug smile spread slowly across the boy's face, and Sana-Lynn had to smother a giggle. Gantz just seemed too silly with that mischievous look on his face. "I am a _Master_ Thief. I can steal anything not nailed down, and some stuff that is. I can bypass any lock, can sneak passed anything, and I am the fastest man alive."

That was quite a revelation to all of them, and Sana found herself gaping. Valor was too, until his face suddenly went purple and he slammed an armored fist down on the table loudly enough to make them all start. "A blasted thief, I should have known! You had better not be a murder as well, or so help me..."

He was really angry, Sana didn't think he ever got angry. But Gantz was angry too. The thief stood from the wall, glaring back at Valor. "I never killed anyone that didn't try to kill me first, you blue blooded fool, so quit glaring at me before your head explodes."

Robin suddenly laughed, as if this were all incredibly amusing.

Valor took hold of himself visibly, still grumbling under his breath. "A bloody thief," he murmured.

Gantz heard him and wiggled an admonishing finger. "_Master_ Thief, blue blood. Emphasis on Master."

Aria nodded thoughtfully. "Well, it seems you all have quite a wide variety of skills and powers. Anyhow, I will leave the rest of the explanation to the Headmaster and see what is taking so long in the kitchens." And off she went, back through a narrow wooden swing door besides the bar.

Valor had watched his mother go, and Sana had watched him, realizing that Valor's mother was a source of strength for him. The young man had to visibly steel himself with her gone. Sana looked down, knowing she would have to do the same when the Headmaster left. He was certainly like a father to her.

After she was gone, Dalton nodded. "According to prophecy, the four of you have quite a trial ahead. I and three others came together before any of you were born, making preparations. Two years ago, all that preparation came to a head when we were given compelling visions to seek out the elemental Crystals. We called ourselves the Pact and came together as we knew we must. This Pact consisted of four men, myself included. The others were Vinter Loftlan, a knight, and father to young Valor here. There was also a man called James Flamehand, who wore black robes and knew how to summon arcane fire, much like Robin Magus. He was a longtime friend of Vinter's, but only an acquaintance to me. The final individual was a mysterious wanderer known only as Shadow. None of us knew him well and he came and went like the wind. Anyhow, each of the Pact sought out one of the elemental Crystals and were given a crystalline orb. It was then our duty to make certain that these orbs were delivered to the Chosen. They have been."

Nobody said anything after that, all of them contemplative. Sana tapped a finger with her chin. "So, you of the Pact undertook your own journey so that we could undertake ours?"

The old man nodded. "Yes, Sister Atha. The sacrifices the four of us made were vital, though not nearly so hard as yours will be. Even Vinter would agree to that, despite that his own life was lost."

Sana looked to Valor with sudden commiseration. So, he had lost his father in this too. The young man only stared at the table though, blue eyes distant.

Dalton continued. "So now we prepare. The four of you must travel as lightly as you can, and between Sana-Lynn and I, we have created a specialized incantation that will help provide you with sustenance on your journey." He turned to her to explain the rest.

The girl nodded. "White magic has many uses, even beyond healing and protection. Conjuration is a school of magical study that can create objects from a given source of energy. The Holy is the source of white magic, and from it, I can create food and drink. It will be simple fair; bread, cheese and water, though with time and practice I may be able to conjure something more elaborate."

Valor tapped the table thoughtfully. "Yes, that is excellent. An armed force that must travel is always slowed most by supply trains. If we do not have to carry loads of foodstuffs, it will lighten our burdens significantly, saving us time and Gil."

Robin sounded annoyed, but added: "We can forage as well. I have done plenty of that, and can tell edible forage from that which isn't."

_Strange, that was almost helpful,_ Sana thought, despite the other's tone. As if reading her mind, Robin glared at her, but said nothing.

Gantz nodded as well, leaning back against the wall. "I can steal anything else we need."

Valor shook his head with a growl. "I will not allow theft! There is no reason for it. Ever."

Gantz _tsked_, and shook his head. "Never say 'ever', you fool noble. In my experience, I've run across plenty of bloody pricks, who would have caused me endless headaches if I would have to had to negotiate with them for what I needed. Besides, I don't steal from people who can't afford it – there's no building rep doing that – and I doubt everyone we might need something from will just give it to us. Besides, I am _not_ letting some blue blood with a spear up his bung tell me what to do!"

Valor gritted his teeth at that, his voice tight. "Fine. If you can justify it, perhaps I will allow you to practice your villainous trade when and if it becomes necessary."

Gantz laughed insolently. Sana admitted he was really quite good at insolence. "Oh, so I need your _permission_ before doing what I've done my whole bloody life. Golly, thank you kindly, my _Lord_."

The Chosen of Earth ground his teeth, but held his tongue.

Sana looked to Dalton. "Headmaster, how did you know where to find us, or who we would be? I've read many of the legends myself, but none of them specify where or even when we would arise. Most of them are cryptic and incomplete, difficult to understand altogether."

"This is true, Sister Atha. Indeed, beyond the visions summoning us to the Crystals, we had to rely on other divinations granted us by a chance meeting with an oracle before we discovered that."

"An oracle?" Valor asked.

Dalton gave him a nod. "Yes, Valor, a seer, a witch, what-have-you, someone that was wiser than all four of us combined, yet you would never know it from meeting her." He paused to stroke his beard, trying to cover one of those subtle grins of his. "She was the strangest person I had ever met."

Valor cupped his chin, considering. "Perhaps we should see this oracle first?"

Dalton quickly shook his head. "No, not first. You must go to the King first, Valor, that much is certain. Perhaps, afterward you can go to see her. She lives north of the Kingdom... in a cave."

"A cave?" Sana said incredulously.

"Nevermind that for now," Dalton went on. "First, you four must prepare. You will be left alone in here for several hours before you must go. You will have meals brought to you, but we will not be interrupted beyond that. Come to know each other as much as possible for I fear it is all the time you will have to do so. You must leave just after noon today to arrive in the White City at the appointed time. Destiny itself will take over from there." After that, he turned from the table and went up the stairs.

His absence made Sana-Lynn nervous all over again, and she clutched her ashen staff tighter.

There was silence in the room, everyone looking at each other, no one daring to speak. The same tension as before hung in the air, and Sana took a deep breath before breaking it. "I was born on a small farm in a pocket province on the western frontier..." she began, and when she was finished, she felt a little stronger.

The four Light Warriors had finally come together.


	15. Strife and Subterfuge

**Strife and Subterfuge**

"Wait, young Lord, where are you going?"

Dorn Dragonfang stopped and glared back over his shoulder at the imperial messenger, causing the man to shrink back. He didn't bother to answer, turning to enter the archway that led to a long spiral staircase. All ready high within the Dragonheart Citadel, this staircase would take the young Dragoon to one of the eyries where trained wyverns of the Empire roosted.

With his foot on the first step, the messenger pleaded with him. "Please, young Lord, Her Highness demanded that I forbid you to pursue vengeance against Highland. Your strength is needed here. You are the last Dragoon remaining besides the Lord-Captain Trainer, and Sir Galuf will need your aid and authority in rebuilding the Imperial Lancers."

Dorn whirled, his face contorted in rage. He wore the dark dragon armor of all Dragoons, though he was newly raised to the right. His dragon helm was tucked under one arm and an armored fist shook at his side. "The Lord-Captain is competent enough, and I will not be dissuaded! Convey_ that_ to my mother, messenger!" Afterward, he turned and stalked up the stairs.

The man only sighed and shook his head.

Dorn moved up the high stone tower with a single-minded focus. The Lancers of the Dragon Empire had never felt such a sting to their honor, and most of all, Dorn could not accept that his older brother had been killed by a mere Highland Knight. Nonetheless, Bane Dragonfang was dead, and Dorn gritted his teeth, his dark eyes stinging as tears threatened to fall. Many had said that he looked much like his brother, with his strong jaw-line and rugged countenance. Bane had taught Dorn more than even their old master, Galuf, about the ways of the Dragoon and the blessings of the Sky Lord Bahamut.

Dorn shook his head violently, snarling to himself. He would be damned if Highland got away with this, but his mother was ever the ruler, ever the diplomat. She had the entire Empire to think about and would do nothing without delays and preparation. Dorn had tried to understand what she had to deal with. He had tried to understand that the core of the Empire's army was the Dragoons, and that traditional military doctrine stated that the imperial army must be led by them. Yet the Dragoons had never been wiped out to a man. Never. It would take too much time to rebuild them and Dorn could not wait. He would not!

So here he was now. Topping the stairs, he left under another archway, which led to the rough-hewn roost, an open-air cavern were row upon row of nests resided, backed by huge granite cliffs. There were upwards of a hundred wyverns resting here, though many flew out into the sky over a thousand foot drop to cold hard rocks below, spiraling lazily in the sky to stretch their wings.

Entering into the frigid winds, Dorn's long blond hair flew about, even tied back into a tail as it was. His black cape fluttered about as well, a stylized blood-red spear embroidered on its back. Ignoring the cold, Dorn fit his dragon helm on, and strode to the thirteenth nest where a large female wyvern rested. Her scales glittered in the morning sun like obsidian, smooth and thick, and as Dorn approached, her head lifted, her large golden eyes regarding him with silent expectation.

Dorn stopped before her and unstrapped the long slender lance-tipped spear beneath his cape. He held it in one hand to his side like a staff, its long wicked head of tempered steel gleaming in the daylight. With a confident smile, he bowed before the wyvern and the majestic creature arched her neck in a similar motion. With that acknowledgement, Dorn spoke: "You have helped me many times before, Araka. Now I seek the blood of the treacherous Highland scum that took my brother's life! I seek vengeance! It is unwise, it is foolhardy, but I will not do otherwise until all of Highland has paid in pain! Will you aid me in this?"

Wyverns were not capable of speech, of course, but they were far from dumb beasts. They could be taught to understand the meanings of mannerisms, especially of those whom they knew best, their handlers and riders. With their riders, especially, this link was very strong.

Araka blinked once and bowed again.

Dorn smiled triumphantly. "Than I shall have you saddled and we will depart, immediately."

Fifteen minutes later, Dorn and Araka flew from the roost out over the mountainous morning world below just as shouts came from imperial troops undoubtedly sent to stop Dorn at his mother's behest. They halted at the ledge shouting his name, but their calls were quickly left behind. Now aloft, Dorn and his mount flew on, surrounded only by the stony earth below, the great sky above, and the shrieking winds all about.

Vengeance would be his, Dorn swore, even if it cost him everything to attain it. That was his vow.

As he and Araka headed south, the cold winds blew all the fiercer.

**IIIIIIIIII**

Lord Sumpter Baigan slammed a fist down on a darkwood table covered with fine porcelain plates piled with delicious delicacies. "My patrons are gone, all four of them! Does no one keep their word anymore?"

Across the table from him sat a beautiful young woman that toyed with a golden goblet. She wore a black dress embroidered heavily in thread-of-gold, a contrast she preferred. Her heart-shaped face harbored large green eyes, now contemplative, and her long darkly red hair flowed down over one shoulder.

Erin Arlington spoke thoughtfully. "Oh, not to worry, my Lord Baigan. I shall be your patron, and provide your lesser House support aplenty, if you wish so much to be King. His current Majesty has lost himself in weeping over the apparent taking of the Princess. Airships fall from the sky and monsters of all sorts are plaguing the pocket provinces at the borders of the Kingdom. And this madness continues to spread."

The man looked to her, tapping the table. "You are a wealthy House, but not so much as the four. I wonder, will your backing be enough?"

The girl smiled at him shrewdly. "Oh, it shall be backing enough, once my troublesome father is out of the way. Indeed, if I can persuade you to see to that problem, than I can throw you my full support with the faction that has resented the King's treatment of them in recent years. With that faction, I have great truck."

"But I sided with Lord Garland and the four, I do not see why they would accept me," Baigan said.

The girl gave a slight shake of her head. "Not to worry, I have been preparing quite a daring tale of how you pretended to toady to them in order to ferret out certain schemes – of which I have ample 'evidence' of. Trust me when I say that I have been preparing long for this."

Baigan gave her a wary look. "And why would you support me? Why not take the throne for yourself? For that matter, how do you intend to oust the Princess if she returns?"

Erin looked at him and her emerald eyes gleamed. "By making certain that she does not return. As to your other questions, I am not interested in the throne of Highland. To be the head of my House is quite enough. Of course, when I assume High Seat, I must also make certain that House Loftlan's wealth and power is added to mine. That is my main ambition, if you must know."

Baigan frowned at the mention of Loftlan. "How do you intend to do that? Aria Loftlan is difficult to deal with. I have tried to ingratiate myself with her many times before."

The girl gave a considerate nod. "Of course you have, Lord Baigan, but you lack tact and skill in the areas required. You lack strength of wit where it must be uncanny. You lack a great many things, I fear."

The big man growled, but Erin forestalled him with an upraised hand. "Accept your faults, Lord Baigan, and toady to me now. I will give you what you wish if you can have my father... dealt with."

"I do not like being insulted, girl!" the man spat.

"But you do like power, though you lack it now. With my aid, you can attain all that you wish; the throne of this country, the backing of all the contrary knighthoods and their strength, truck with guildmasters and merchant princes. All these links to power can be yours if you but aid me in this one thing. It is too much power for me alone, and I find I have no one else to share it with." She paused, taking a long sip of wine from her goblet before looking casually at the man across from her. "The choice is yours, Lord Baigan."

He mulled it over, still scowling, until he finally nodded. "I am in contact with certain skilled persons, remnants of a group that followed Lady Tiam. Your father will be 'seen to', _if_ I have your oath of patronage."

Erin nodded immediately. "You will have all the support I can muster, all that of my House and retainers. I swear to the Sacred Light of the Crystals themselves that this will be so."

Baigan still seemed wary, but could not stop a slow smile spreading across his face. He noticed it soon enough and forced his lips straight before he stood. "As you say, Lady Arlington, I am your man."

Erin contained her own knowing smile perfectly. The fool was like an open book, with no more control than a fool goblin or boorish tribesman.

Yes, indeed, he would be the perfect tool.

When the man left the dining hall, Erin nibbled absently at a slice of rolled ham. Aria and Valor had not kept their dinner date two days passed, and Erin had wondered immediately if Aria had finally come to suspect her. The girl's unwaveringly honorable parents were the perfect cover, but Aria Loftlan was no Sumpter Baigan. Still, if the old woman suspected foul play, why had she allowed the marriage proposal between her son, Valor and Erin? It might be some kind of lure, but Erin had never caught any hint of such subterfuge and she had looked as thoroughly as possible without arousing suspicion. Still, Aria Brigada Loftlan was highly skilled at intrigue, that much was certain. During this whole upheaval, she had played both the political factions so skillfully that Erin doubted that either side had noticed the marked increase in House's Loftlan's power. Erin's own House, though strong, had gained no new influence. Her parents possessed a great deal of honor and a pathetic lack of ambition. Sometimes the girl wondered how she was even related to them. However, her mother, Seena Arlington, was ill and Erin's father, Oster, was a idealistic fool. They would be easy enough to... displace.

The girl took another sip of wine and smiled. "You will be mine, Valor Loftlan, a suitably strong and handsome trophy to cap my triumph. I fear, however, that your mother must meet with an unfortunate accident." With that, Erin Hayata Arlington stood from the table and began her true work in earnest.


	16. Four Set Forth

**Four Set Forth**

They walked together, four abreast upon the wide dirt road, heading north.

The afternoon was pleasant, yet still too cold for this time in Spring. They knew the world was slowly dying, yet that wasn't very apparent now. However, the times were upon them whether it was apparent or not.

Gantz tried to move casually, the dark leather armor he wore not much of a hindrance to his pace. He was nervous all the same, however, occasionally glancing at Valor who walked to his left. The snobby noble had an air of stony determination about him and looked all the more uptight for it. He wore his armor well, however, and the thief admitted he cut a regal figure. That was the only good thing Gantz could think of about the haughty prig, and sighed irritably.

The Black Mage walked to his right, occasionally glaring at him with her glowing eyes. When she wasn't glaring at him she was glaring at nothing. He supposed that since her eyes glowed, it might just seem she was always glaring, but from little he head learned of her he doubted it.

Gantz hadn't shared much of his past those hours ago back at the roadside inn. The White Mage, Sana-Lynn had been the first, Valor the second, Robin third, and him last and reluctantly. He could admit his secretive nature, and he hated revealing things about himself that weren't absolutely necessary.

Besides, he didn't really believe he had had much to share.

Gantz had been born in the distant east, in a small mountainous region that was said once to have been a great nation. However, most of it had been wilderness, scattered mountain villages and secluded communities that subsisted off of farming and fishing for their mainstay. The boy's oldest memories were of living in one of those, though with strangers, not with his family. Gantz had never really learned much about his family.

He had been raised by an old hunter, a cantankerous old fart that had been constantly on the move. So, Gantz had grown up a wanderer without any real home, always drifting, always moving... like the wind, he supposed.

They had gone from place to place, village to village, living on the outskirts and in the wilderness. He shared that much in common with Robin Magus, at least to a point. When he'd been twelve, the old hunter had proclaimed he had found the greatest prey and had left to seek his glory. He had never returned. A week later, a black-clad man almost totally concealed, but for his dark haunting gaze, appeared in the woods where Gantz had slept. He had stood in the shadows, seemingly at one with them, and had planted two knives in the ground before the boy. Afterward, he had vanished without a trace. That was day that the boy had received his most prized possessions.

That very same month, Gantz had visited his first sizable settlement, and had decided he liked urbanity more than living in the wilderness. He had already been long aware of his preternatural knack for sneakiness and soon developed sticky fingers to suit. His chosen profession came as natural as breathing after that.

Four years to the day, just about, saw him here and now, Chosen of the Crystal of the Wind, and all he wanted to do was run and hide. He instinctively knew he could not, however, not from this fate, and that vexed him all the more.

So he moved with the other three toward the White City. Still a good half day away in the distance, Gantz could still make out the white walls and the Castle Cornelia jutting up above it all. He could even see the blue strand of the River Amathia that bisected the eastern parts of the city. The docks district, his home for the last two years had been there, set hard by the river.

Yet seeing the city from this distance, under these new circumstances suddenly made the thief feel as if he had never been to the city before, that he was embarking on something new, something epic. However, he glanced irately at Valor to his left again, and the sudden feeling of awe was quickly replaced by trepidation.

Suddenly, he growled: "Ah bloody hellfire! What in the bloody depths of the Abyss am I doing here on this blasted fool's quest!"

Robin growled to his right. "Wasting your breath, you bloody ignoramus! For some reason, one of the Crystals chose your worthless hide to aid it, so you'd better accept the fact and be done!"

Valor gave an exasperated sigh. "Am I going to have to separate you two?" Sana-Lynn giggled.

Robin clamped her mouth shut, gripping her rod tightly. Gantz, on the other hand, felt the overwhelming need to retort. "Just letting off some steam, you bloody snob of a noble. That ain't against your code of conduct is it?"

The fighter clenched his jaw, but Sana leaned back from where she was walking and wiggled a finger at him. "'Isn't' Gantz...'that isn't against your code of conduct', you meant to say."

The thief gaped at her. "What are you, a bloody school teacher? We aren't kids in a classroom, I can talk however I bloody want to."

The White Mage just giggled again.

Valor frowned at him. "Robin is right, Gantz, you cannot avoid this fate. It is best to accept it and gird yourself for what comes. There will be a great many challenges, I doubt any of us will ever get bored."

"Bored? You think I'm worried about getting bored?" Gantz cried in outrage, but quickly lapsed into silence.

They all did.

Some time passed and the four moved over to the right side of the road as a caravan of high-wheeled wagons passed them, heading south. They went by a few more small roadside business, inns and a tavern, and continued to walk, the sun slowly sliding down in an evening sky.

The city was probably still a good four hours distant when they passed another roadside inn and a tall fellow, intercepted them. He was Valor's height, but not as broad, a foppish-looking man with shiny bronze hair and a pretty-boy face. Gantz figured he must be a noble, with his fancy red cloak, embroidered along the hem in alternating white and black triangles. A white silk shirt and fancy satin breeches were worn beneath, though the man's fine knee-high boots of supple leather covered most the breeches. He wore a rapier sheathed at his side, and bowed before them all, doffing his ridiculous red hat, a white feather sticking out from its side.

As he straightened, but before he could say anything, Robin took a single step forward and stabbed her rod at him. "Out of the way, you foppish bint! I have no interested in what you're selling, and neither do the fools I'm traveling with, if they have any sense at all." She glared at them all doubtfully.

Gantz rolled his eyes, and Valor sighed, but it was Sana-Lynn who came forward. "Please forgive her, stranger, she has a terrible affliction which hampers her manners."

In response, Robin growled like a beast, then just plopped down on the ground, arms folded irately, as if all this were wasting her time. Gantz thought he might agree with her, frowning and folding his arms as well.

The man didn't seem put off in the least, and bowed again, with an especially elaborate flourish that made the thief want to wretch. "Oh, I've run into all types," he proclaimed, gracing Sana with a broad smile. "Still, yours is a beauty I have rarely glimpsed," he finished, taking the girl's hand and kissing it.

Sana's face went red as the man's cloak, and Gantz heard Valor growl in the back of his throat for some reason. The thief leaned over. "You see why you nobles make me sick," he said.

Valor's jaw clenched, but he did not take his eyes from the pair as he responded. "I do not like him either, thief." Gantz frowned at his tone, but gave a slight nod. He supposed they could agree on some things.

Anyhow, the fop wasn't finished, turning toward them all. "You four are far too distinct to pass for mere travelers so you are undoubtedly the ones I seek. I have come to bring you to speed on the many happenings in the City of Dreams so you know what you're walking into. Please, I have made arrangements at this humble inn and ask that you take me up for the night. Rest assured that you can be underway as early as must be on the morrow."

Valor shook his head, then went up to stand beside Sana before this man. "Who are you, and why would you have a need to speak with us?"

The man smiled again. "Ah, of course, how terribly rude of me." He made another flourish of his scarlet cloak. "I am True Herring, the Red Bard, and we have mutual acquaintances, Valor, Son of Loftlan."

The fighter narrowed his eyes, but Sana suddenly smiled. "A bard? Do you play music?"

"I do indeed, my beauty. I am versed in the flute and the hand harp, if you would care to listen."

Valor shook his head. "That will have to wait," he said to them both. Sana looked disappointed before nodding, though the fop – True was his name – looked positively crestfallen. "You must explain your presence and your purpose here first. Frivolity can come after."

For all his apparent loss of spirit, the red-cloaked dandy was smiling again all too quickly. He really did make Gantz want to wretch.

Robin suddenly growled where she huddled. "That fop makes me want to vomit," she admitted irately.

The thief wasn't sure if that had been meant for him or no one in particular, but he managed a nod in agreement. "My thoughts exactly."

The Black Mage grumbled a bit, but said nothing.

The fop continued. "Explanations are forthcoming, Lord Loftlan, but not out here. If it pleases you, follow me to the inn where I have procured a private dining room. It is there we can speak over supper."

Valor hesitated, looking to them all for consensus. Sana nodded, Gantz made himself shrug, and Robin didn't deign to acknowledge the fighter's questioning gaze. Exasperated, he spoke for them all. "Very well."

Dusk had fallen when the White Mage, the fighter, the thief and the bard occupied the small dark-paneled dining room. Valor and Sana sat at one side of a small circular table across from True, while Gantz stood to one side of the room's only door, leaning casually against the wall. Robin was absent, having retreated to her single room.

A nice fire was crackling in a plain stone hearth to one side, lighting the room, but not warming it much, strange as that was. Gantz frowned at that almost as much as the fop's explanations. Oddly enough, the red-cloaked man had taken on a more serious demeanor since entering the small room.

"A momentous shift has occurred in the political undercurrents of the White City recently," True began, all the ingratiating servility gone from his voice. "It seems that the four Great Ducals have vanished, their Houses in complete disarray. Without the foundation of their influence, their retainers and other allies have descended into political infighting. This has granted the faction I represent a definite opportunity to reassert its power."

Gantz shook his head. "You fool nobles and your bloody power games."

The fop gave him a sudden sly smile, sly enough to make the thief almost nervous. "You are the Master Thief, Gantor Raz, are you not? You are wanted all over the city."

"Gantor Raz?" Valor said distastefully.

Sana smiled at the thief. "Is that your real name, Gantz?"

The thief smoothed the surprise from his face with difficulty and nodded sharply. "Aye, that's me. Haven't used my full name in a long time, definitely not since I came to Cornelia. Seems you're a little more than just the trussed-up peacock I took you for, Master Herring."

True waved that away, sounding wistful. "Oh, I do wish I could be but a simple bard, Master Raz, but the times demand more of me, I'm afraid."

The thief's lips twisted sourly. "That's as may be. And its just Gantz, by the way, just plain old Gantz."

The man smiled. "As you wish."

Valor did not smile. "Regardless, you say the political power base is shifting within the capital. How has the King been acting?"

True arched a serious eyebrow at him. "Your royal cousin has turned over a new leaf, Lord Valor, but something very disturbing has happened recently, something that has awakened fear in all of us."

Sana suddenly nodded with a scowl. "The Veil of Darkness."

"Yes, Sana-Lynn. A shadowy phantasm appeared before the court two days passed, claiming that it was Garland. I was present, sitting in with my noble brother, the Count deLufron. The phantasm emitted a powerful demonic dread and the visage was nothing like Garland the man, whom I have seen. It was a towering monster in shadowy black-barbed armor that pronounced the destruction of Highland's entire army at its hands. It also declared that the Princess Sarah was in its clutches and that the End Times were coming and it would gladly usher them in. Afterward, the thing vanished and chaos ensued. Shouts of the Fifth Cataclysm were everywhere and the subtle failings of the land were suddenly remembered and brought to voice. Worst of all, the King stood and left the hall without a word. Crying and raging and the gnashing of teeth were left in his wake."

Valor pounded a fist on the table. "How dare he relinquish his duty when he is needed most!"

Sana suddenly put a hand on his shoulder, her voice strangely serene. "It is his daughter, Valor. He has lost her, the one thing he had left to care about, the one person that had not betrayed him."

Gantz and Valor gave her a questioning look, while True gave a considering one. The bard spoke: "That was my conclusion as well after some consideration. I know of Sarah and was there to witness this, however."

The White Mage gave an off-hand shrug. "Sometimes I just sense things."

Valor gave a nod, accepting, but frowned again. "I must speak with the King as soon as possible."

True nodded. "The city is beset by turmoil, but I will use whatever truck I have to get you to see him as quickly as I can. Regardless, there will be a need for you to explain yourselves."

Valor looked grimly determined. "Whatever must be done, I shall do."

Gantz slowly wiped a hand down his face. "Oi, what a pain. I can't believe I have to get dragged into this bloody dung heap."

Sana looked over at him with a sweet smile. "You can always become a bandit, Gantor Raz."

He grumbled and fidgeted, but said nothing. The girl giggled. True laughed.

Valor frowned. "My mother and Dalton Samar of the Order of the White Staff will head back to the city to bring what stability they can. They will not arrive before we do, however. Is there anything more you have to tell us, True Herring?"

The Red Bard folded his white-gloved hands on the table. "My immediate superior in organization I am currently attached to is the Viscount Brannic Sutherland, a colleague of the Duchess Loftlan. I do not know of anyone higher up, though I have my suspicions. From what I've gathered, however, your mother may already possess a high seat within the circle. She may even be the leader, but I can find nothing to corroborate such an... accusation."

The fighter leaned back to consider. Sana gave him a grin. "It seems your mother is quite formidable."

Valor nodded with a hint of incredulity. "More than you know, Sana. Or I, for that matter. She may already have things in hand, but I must leave that duty to her. We have our own to see to."

Sana simply nodded. "Of course."

Gantz grimaced. "Well, I'm bloody glad you're all so eager to stick your heads into this blasted hornets' nest, but I ain't looking forward to it at all. Tell you one thing, though, I damn sure better get that bloody bounty taken off my head before I get my head taken off. I've become rather attached to it over the years."

"A pity that," Valor said with the hint of a grin. Sana giggled.

Gantz just huffed.

True smiled, then stood from his chair with a flourish of his cloak. "Well then, if you will all pardon me, I think I shall head to the common where I will play for the folk a tune or three. A good night to you."

Sana stood as well, adjusting her white cloak. "I would like to accompany you, Master Herring. I've not heard a good recital in quite some time. I think it'll be fun."

The man bowed again. "As if I could refuse such a gorgeous offer. If you would allow me." He offered Sana his hand and the girl took it with a slight blush before grasping his arm and being led out to the hall.

When they were just outside the door, Gantz jerked his chin at Valor. "You gonna let that red dandy take your woman without a fight. I thought you had more sense than that."

Valor's face went burgundy. "How _dare _you, you vile wretch! She is nothing of the kind, and can do as she pleases! I have no right to impose upon her actions! If you had any claim to decency at all, you would..."

And on he went, though Gantz made a mocking motion with one of his black-gloved hands. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, spare me the indignant tirade, you blue blooded bung cork." He didn't bother to stay after that, just opened the door and left the room, with Valor still raging inside.

He went down the hall to his single bedroom with a huge grin on his face. There was just nothing better than making that haughty prig have apoplexy. Besides, Sana _was_ pretty, it was no pain to admit, and she was actually quite nice unlike that shrouded harridan of a Black Mage, who threatened to burn everything in sight at the drop of a Gil.

In his room, Gantz suddenly sighed, however. He was well and truly caught in fate's grasp, and would have to face whatever it was that was coming. Duty wasn't a word in his vocabulary, but he supposed he was gonna have to learn it sometime. That hardly meant he was going to get all bung-tight like Valor bloody Loftlan, but maybe taking on some real responsibility would be interesting...

Maybe it would even be a challenge.

That thought stayed with him as Gantz plopped down on the bed.

Maybe it would even be fun.


	17. Dawn of Revelation

**Dawn of Revelation**

There was a good deal of traffic before the great White Gates, even in this early hour. The sun was simply a pale orange glint on the eastern horizon yet Robin Magus was wide awake...

And furious!

The fop in his garish red robes led herself and the three fools she was forced to travel with around to one side of the road. They tromped through the short bushy grasses passed a multitude of heavily laden ox-pulled carts and wagons of more configurations than Robin cared to identify. The city-dwellers' avarice was insatiable it seemed, and they wasted no time getting a jump on their bartering and haggling.

Her previous trip to this blasted city was still fresh in her mind, and if Robin had to put up with what she had last time, she'd probably be burning more of the damned place this time.

She walked behind the others,wringing her charred black rod in both hands. Her rage was threatening to overtake her and she had to fight to keep it down. She mentally dared anyone to say the wrong thing to her – just one thing! – and she would go berserk. She had to remember the balance more than ever this morning. There had been so many delays. She should have undergone her own journey – she should have! She'd likely be done by now while these blasted dimwits still wrestled with their inane inadequacies.

Yet she had been charged by the elders, by the Head Shaman in particular. She was powerful, the strongest of her tribe, yet they were the Voices of the Spirits, the Eyes of the Ancestors. Their wisdom was beyond question, and they had charged her with this duty. It was a matter of honor, of strength, that she undertake this quest, and so despite the incessant stupidity she was forced to endure, she would endure it. The elders had spoken.

So she gripped her rod and gritted her teeth, her eyes blazing even more than the runes of fire that wreathed her. She glimpsed fools by their carts and wagons eyeing her strangely, many with fear or awe or both.

She quivered. They should mind their own blasted business, she was none of theirs.

A long low growl crept up from the back of her throat unconsciously, and the fool thief gave her a wary glance over his shoulder. She glared at him vehemently, but he only scowled and turned back, grumbling to himself and fingering the hilts of his fool knives.

Robin ignored the monkey and growled again, adjusting her wide-brimmed hat. There was breeze out that ruffled her enshrouding black robes, but Robin rarely felt the cold. She barely ever had. Being blessed by the Crystal of Fire granted her a number of advantages. It seemed it was the same with the others. Gantz had already proved his immunity to her arcane lightning and she wondered if the idiot White Mage might be immune to her freezing ice. Robin possessed no earth-based magic yet, but she wondered if Valor might have some way around it, even if she did. Such thoughts consumed her, but she knew she could make allowances. If it came to it, she had enough different magics that if one failed, she would simply use another. There was still the possibility that she would have to destroy... or at least hinder the others, in order to fulfill her own quest. Her success was paramount, and she would let no one get in the way of it!

She realized she was continuously growling and made herself stop. The five of them were coming upon the great White Gates, spread wide to allow entrance into the city for multiple lanes of traffic. Already, guards in their gold-enameled armor were coming up to intercept them, and Robin smiled wickedly. Her runes changed from blazing orange to frosty blue.

She was forestalled, however, by the red-cloaked fop, who met the guards with his seemingly signature frippery. The dandy flourished his cloak and bid the men a good day, even as they crossed spears before him. "Good men of the Guard, I have a matter of great urgency I must set before you..."

Robin and the three other Chosen stopped walking to stand four abreast before the guards while the dandy did the talking. Robin knew her sigils of frost glowed with frozen brilliance that tended to easily intimidate idiots. Whatever saw her in and out of this city swiftly, she was willing to use to the hilt.

The fool fop continued in a suddenly resonant voice, pitched loud enough to draw the attention of all about, not just the guards confronting them. "Loyal men of the Guard, I beseech you to believe me, that my companions here, young though they are, are vital to the stability of the land. If you would please allow us into the city, and perhaps provide an escort to facilitate our passage, we must, by all means, speak with the King as soon as it can be arranged."

It wasn't long until the guard captain came up behind his subordinates and scowled. Robin noticed quickly that that scowl was directed squarely at her, and then she remembered this dolt from before when the White Mage Belman had stopped her in the city square. She glared back defiantly.

Valor traced the man's gaze and sighed. "You aren't going to help this at all, are you Robin Magus?"

The monkey and White Mage both frowned at her.

Robin glared at them all. "I'll let you fools grovel and scratch before these slugs if you like, but that is not the nature of Fire."

"Of course not," Sana added irately. "Your nature is to make it impossible for us to do our duty."

Robin growled. "Your duty be damned, lesser mage! Mine is paramount, and it does not involve convincing idiots to see sense they will never see."

The White Mage looked away, speaking offhandedly. "The same could be said for some others present."

Robin laughed harshly, but cared not what Sana thought. She was losing patience and control, however, gripping her rod near to snapping it. The sigils about her were those of fire again, and they blazed balefully. "The fop had best convince them soon."

Gantz looked at her askance. "Is it your diet or something? What makes you so bloody angry all the time?"

Robin huffed in dismissal. "As if your monkey brain could fathom the passions that drive me."

Gantz just shook his head irately, but Valor glared at her. "Honestly, Robin Magus, you are in need of a sound thrashing. Someone needs to lay you low before your arrogance gets us all killed." Sana immediately shot her hand up enthusiastically, as if to advance her claim to beat Robin before the others got to.

Robin glared back at idiot White Mage, then at Valor. She said nothing, just dared him with her withering gaze to deliver his 'thrashing'. The bloody tin can would see quickly where that would get him if he dared!

Regardless, the fop was still haggling with the Guard, but the captain shook his head, pointing at Robin. "That wild witch is wanted for evading arrest and arson!" He paused then, squinting at Gantz. "And his face I've seen on wanted posters throughout the city. Those are both fugitives, Sir Herring, and by the Sacred Light of the Crystals, I will see them to justice!"

Robin had had enough, but Valor forestalled her. His face was taut with anger and impatience to a degree she had never witnessed, and, for some reason, she allowed him to take the lead.

The armored fighter strode up several steps to put himself before the guard captain. Though his armor was plain over a faded red suit of worn leather, he nonetheless provided an air of command. He hesitated a second, looking over the guards, then out over the people, and Robin wondered what he was planning. She realized it quickly, however, and actually approved. It was bold, and something she had not thought of.

"We are the four Light Warriors," Valor Loftlan declared, and a resounding gasp elicited from everyone within earshot. "The time of the Final Cataclysm is approaching. As prophesied in legend, we have come to seek our destiny and fulfill our duty! That is why we must pass immediately."

The guard captain looked stunned, but only for a second. It was a bold claim after all. He _tsked_ however, and shook his head. "A goat can say he's a lion, young man, but that does not make it so."

Valor turned his blue gaze upon the man. "I am Valor Loftlan, son of Vinter and Aria Loftlan. I swear to you that I am Chosen of the Earth Crystal and that the End Times are approaching. I must see my cousin, the King, as soon as possible!"

The man gaped before his declaration but held his ground. "By the King's own order, he is not to be disturbed until his deliberations are concluded. That is by his own proclamation."

Robin shook her shrouded head. The bloody twit still didn't believe them.

"We must get in with all haste!" Valor shouted, desperation tinging his words. Sana suddenly looked concerned.

The captain shook his gold-helmed head. "Not without more convincing proof than your word, boy, impressive though it may be."

_Proof..._

The debate stopped dead, as did all murmuring from the onlookers. The guards looked about, confused. The strange disembodied voice had not been loud, but had apparently touched all minds present.

It had certainly touched Robin's. To her, that single word had been uttered by a bass guttural voice, a voice both stern and disapproving, a male voice, but from no mortal man.

There was complete silence everywhere. Even the oxen pulling the carts and wagons had gone as still as the deepest winter night.

_Proof. Very well, mortals, look to the east..._

As if all present shared a single brain, everyone looked east.

The dawn sun flared brightly above the eclipsing mountains and bathed the entire morning world in a radiant glow. Everyone looked away, unable to countenance the sun's direct power, but behind them, another light flared...

Or more appropriately, four other lights.

Robin watched as the Orb of Fire suddenly floated a foot above her head, shining with wicked red-orange power. Sana's sapphire blue orb floated above her as well, Valor's solid yellow also, and Gantz's misty green. Their separate glows lasted only a moment before they brightened and then merged, creating a singular glow of purest white that hummed with a quiet but penetrating presence.

_Proof, mortals..._

With that, the lights winked out, and the orbs returned to their containers by magical means.

Valor turned his rock-steady gaze upon the guard captain again. "Will you aid us now, captain?"

The man could not stop gaping but finally managed a nod.

**IIIIIIIIII**

_If only you were still with me, Jayne, my love, this never would have happened._

King Highland sat in the massive gilded throne upon the white marble dais at the head of the throne room, the great chamber empty but for the King and his final friend. All the opulence of the throne room had no meaning or import; there to impress and utterly unimpressive. It was merely a garish blur before him.

Strangely enough, it felt as if he had recently had a veil ripped from his eyes. After so long, his thoughts had become clear again after having been otherwise for nearly two years. It could not be coincidence that this disillusionment had taken place so close to the disappearance of his four great advisors. Not a week gone it had happened, and the four had truly vanished, for the King had sent out his guard to scour the city for them as well as mounted messengers to their grand estates just beyond the bounds of the White City. Each steward had little to tell. Their masters had left to attend some business and had not returned since.

It had done no good to curse the four for their treachery, and whatever means they had held him spellbound in their grasp the last two years. He remembered it all too perfectly now; making decisions he never would have made otherwise, coming to conclusions without deliberation, utterly convinced with just a few compelling words from unctuous tongues. He had brought injustice after injustice to the Kingdom, dividing his court into two separate factions, and girding for war with the Dragon Empire to the north, which was simple madness.

Yes, he had been responsible for it all. And then there was Sarah, his precious child, the only remainder of his dead queen, trying to reason with him when he had been immune to reason. He had chided her, belittled her, and disregarded her. He remembered the agonizingly sad looks she had given him that he had affected not to notice, too busy plotting to care. She had not given up, however, inciting his anger more than once so that he had sent her away under guard. He had even considered exiling her to the old West Tower, or marrying her off to some unknown suitor just to have her away from him.

His head now lowered in shame, the golden crown upon his brow immeasurably heavy as it had never seemed before. Regret befuddled him and sadness stabbed at his heart. His precious daughter was in the clutches of the black-clad monster now, the dark demon that had destroyed Highland's entire army single-handedly.

Indeed, nothing mattered now except her. Not his duty, not his honor, nothing except getting Sarah back alive and well. The dark phantom that had appeared in court a few days back had brought tidings of doom and the King believed all of them utterly, and yet the loss of his daughter had rendered him powerless in a way he had never before known. He had locked himself away then, forsaking all else. He was beyond redemption and neither the gods, nor the Crystal's themselves could save him.

The Councilor Breen stood at the foot of the dais, silent all this time when the King decided to speak in a barely audible whisper. "The Crystals themselves have forsaken me, Breen. I have lost my wife, my honor, and now even Sarah, the last piece of me. My soul is empty, I am nothing now. I am broken."

The old councilor looked up at his friend with a sad smile. "Whatever is broken can be mended, my King. These were your words to me not so long ago."

The King shook his head. "Foolish optimism, Breen. Vinter was right. You as well. You never trusted them, the four. I know now that you did not, but you did not speak against any of my foolish proclamations either. Why, Breen?"

The man hardened his gaze for a second. "I took an oath to support you in all that you do or have done, my King. I can assist you in affairs of state and ceremony, advise you in same, but cannot go against your decrees. I was never to be your conscience, Sire. It is not my place and never was. That is _my_ honor. Besides, you ruled for so long with wisdom and strength. I knew this madness would not last."

The King heard his words and slumped forward, pinching the bridge of his nose. Loss pulsed inside his brain, worse than any migraine. Hurt continued to gnaw at his heart. "There may be a revolt, my old friend. The disenfranchised may come to pull me down, I have blundered too greatly. They have every right to do so. I know their council debates even now. I do not even know who it is that they've in mind to replace me. I have not followed the currents these last two years. I have lost touch, blinded myself to everything that can swallow a King, no matter his strength." He stared with great sadness at the empty throne to his left.

Breen was about to reply when there was a suddenly insistent knock from the double doors across the chamber.

"Whoever it is," the King said flatly. "Send them away."

Breen went to do so, but the huge doors burst open alarmingly and in strode a young armored warrior, gold-armored guards trying in vain to restrain him. He flung them away with surprising strength, anger and outrage contorting his face, his broad jaw set, brows knit, brown hair shot through with streaks of silver.

His sapphire eyes blazed with what the old man could only call righteous fury.

The King stood quickly. "Who dares!"

"I dare, cousin!" Valor Loftlan shouted, stopping to plant himself before the dais. Breen quickly noticed the three entering the throne room in young Valor's wake. One was a White Mage, a young pretty girl with long blond hair and worried hazel eyes. Beside her stood another boy, his arms folded, his swift features set in irritation. He wore dark leather armor and looked a bandit. Beside that one was what seemed to be a shrouded witch with angry glowing eyes, encompassed by a burning nimbus of eldritch light.

The King was suddenly enraged. "You've no right to barge in here, boy! I will not tolerate such arrogance! Guards, seize this intruder by any means."

Gold-armored guards came running, and Breen backed away as Valor simply turned, his sword unsheathed in one fluid motion. The first guard charged with a roar and was disarmed. Valor then pivoted bringing his kite shield about to bash the man in the chest knocking him hard to his back. Two came from each flank and Valor drove into one. Swords clashed twice before the young warrior brought his bastard sword around, the flat of the blade striking the man hard across the back of the helmet with a ring. With an elbow strike, Valor knocked the dazed guard into the other flanker, stunting his charge. The boy then sheathed his sword in an eye-blink and struck the hindered guard square in the breastplate with an open-handed strike. The man was knocked back as if by an avalanche, hitting the ground and sliding clear to a stop, unconscious.

Four more guards came up and Valor danced in among them. Without a word, his blade flashed, breaking through two longswords with one slash, leaving their wielders stunned. He then stomped the floor hard with one foot, as if to anchor himself in the earth, and caught another guard's blade in his hand in mid-slash. Then, with a furious roar, the boy lifted the armored man above his head and flung him into the final guard, both of them going down in a clattering tangle.

No guards left, Valor gave a roar and thrust his sword inches into the marble floor with a thundering crack. The whole room seemed to vibrate with his rage. Incensed, he dropped his shield and climbed the stairs until he was face to face with his cousin, the King in utter shock. He grabbed the man with both gauntleted fists and lifted him a foot off the floor. Rumbling like an earthquake: "Have you abdicated the throne, cousin?"

The King didn't answer, too stunned, too lost, to do so.

Valor gave him a shake. "Answer, me, cousin! Have you stepped down as liege of this country? That is what I see here, a coward hiding from justice! Do you know what you've done to this land, to your people? Answer me, if you still have the spine to do so! Do you have any idea what is about to descend on us all?"

Breen watched the White Mage come to the foot of the dais. A strange sadness filled her hazel eyes. "Please, Valor, this is not the way. He is in pain."

The boy stopped and looked back at her. He closed his eyes with a weighted sigh and then lowered the King to his feet. With a small shove, he turned away, and the man slumped into his throne. The boy Valor descended the dais and went down with the White Mage. He retrieved his sword and shield before going back to stand with the other young ones, four abreast before the throne.

Breen looked up at the King, but the man was utterly lost. The Chancellor then looked to Valor Loftlan. "My boy, it has been a good while. You have grown to look much like your father."

The boy sighed wearily again. "Thank you, Breen. It has been a long time since we last talked." He suddenly paused, looking around the throne room. The guard captain stood behind the four of them, his arms out to keep his cluster of men at bay, while he seemed to wait. True Herring, the Red Bard, sat on the floor just inside the double doors, looking to be writing furiously on a piece of parchment. Oddly enough, it seemed he was using the long white plumed quill from his red hat to do the writing, a small bottle of ink set before him.

Valor looked back up at the King. "We four are the Light Warriors, cousin. We are here to begin our quest."

Breen saw a palpable change overtake the King. At hearing his young cousin's declaration, his eyes suddenly shown with old strength. "Then the times are truly upon us, as Garland had said."

"They are," Valor confirmed.

"But you have risen, as foretold in the oldest prophesies, to stop the Final Cataclysm from shattering the Crystals of Light. You have risen with the dawn. Yes, I can feel the truth in your words."

_Truth..._

All sound seemed to disappear from the chamber. Everyone looked about instinctively, but the speaker was not visible. The speaker was within.

To Valor, that word had been a mother's gentle admonition.

To Sana-Lynn, it had been a serene priestess's intonation.

To Gantz, it had been a majestic ruler's proclamation.

To Robin, it had been a stern warrior's declaration.

_Bound by these things we are, truths brought forth by fate's twisted skeins..._

_Strength in these four we've seen, power to undo any evil. Courage they have, to stand before the Abyssal Ones that even now are breaking free at their ruler's behest._

_Chaos comes to the mortal world once more, and we cannot fight it alone. The Crystals can speak no more, we are all that is left of the Essence..._

_The Warriors of Dawn must go forth before all is lost..._

_Before all is darkness..._

In four flashes, the crystalline orbs floated two feet above the heads of their respective bearers; yellow, red, blue, green. The colors became brighter and brighter until they merged into a single pristine white light from which no shadow could hide.

Then all at once, they were gone.

Everyone blinked.

Breen fell to his knees. "...Those voices... those were they, the God Spirits... the Eidolons."

Gantz quickly shook his head. "I only heard one voice. It sounded like an emperor or something. Someone really powerful and commanding."

Breen looked to him. "You are which Chosen?"

The boy shrugged. "Wind, I guess."

"Bahamut, Lord of the Skies, Eidolon of Wind, Essence of the very air itself. Legends say he is the living will of Crystal of the Wind, as all four Eidolons are the will of their respective Crystals."

Sana looked to the kneeling Chancellor with wonder. "I have never read of any such legend in the halls of the White Temple. Where did you learn this, Chancellor?"

He regained his feet, but his gray eyes shone with fervor. "And which blessed Chosen are you, child?"

The girl blushed a bit at the pure devotion in his voice. "I am the Chosen of Water, Chancellor."

"Leviathan, Lady of the Sea, Eidolon of Water, Essence of the pure depths."

Breen was almost shaking, though his voice was steady. His gaze fell upon Valor. "You must be Earth, young Valor. Your great strength from before, it is your blessing."

Valor suddenly recalled the fight. "I had not even noticed it then."

Breen nodded. "Asura, Gaia, Athena; the three-faced goddess of Light, Earth, and Wisdom respectively."

Valor nodded slowly in intrigue.

Breen turned to look at the shrouded witch, but she forestalled him. "Do not patronize me, old fool. The Guardian Spirit of my tribe has always been the Lord of Fire, Ifrit, and it is his blessing I bear."

The old Chancellor simply nodded.

"Hope..." the King intoned and sudden determination forced out all the despair in his brown gaze. He sat straight, his voice strong and clear. "Hear me, Light Warriors. The Dark Knight Garland has taken my daughter, Sarah, to his lair in the Temple of Fiends to the north. He is the greatest swordsman in the Kingdom and much more than that now, a dark monster able to crush armies single-handedly. I charge you, Chosen of the Crystals, to defeat this fiend, and bring me back my precious daughter."

Valor nodded, a triumphant smile on his face. "I have missed you, cousin."

The King looked down with a nod. "I have returned, Valor, thanks to you. I swear it now that darkness will not claim this land whilst I lead it. By the Light of the Crystals, Highland will become whole again."

He turned to Breen and the old Chancellor bowed. "My oldest friend, let it be known that there will be a great feast tonight in Castle Cornelia, and that all the court is to attend."

The King then focused on his guard captain. "Lord-Captain Marcus, these four are the Chosen Warriors of the Dawn. You will grant them an honor guard to the royal apartments and provide men for their doors. No harm will befall them, do you understand?"

The captain and his soldiers bowed quickly with fists to chest. "It will be as you say, Majesty."

The King nodded. "Very well. This night we will feast, and tomorrow, you the Chosen, will leave for the Temple of Fiends... and your destiny."

He looked out over all assembled. "The Dark War is coming and we must all be ready. Let the people know that it is upon us, but tell them also that the four Light Warriors walk amongst us once again."


	18. Things Set in Motion

**Things Set in Motion**

The day had gone quickly and Valor had been glad to rest after his confrontation with the King that morning.

He was no longer worried about the future of his homeland as far as its governance was concerned. His royal cousin was returned to him, and they had gone hawking that afternoon in the King's Forest just north of Cornelia. The man that Valor's father had once told him of had returned with his quiet strength, his insight, his easy laugh. Still, there had been tension in King Highland's eyes, and Valor knew it was his ever-growing worry for his taken daughter.

The Princess Sarah. It had been awhile since Valor had even thought of his cousin. As he recalled, she had been somewhat spoiled and as a child, and they had not been great friends. Then again, Valor himself had not had a normal childhood, filled with the endless training that was his mandate. It had been about four years since he had seen her last, and she had called him a disparaging bore.

He hadn't cared much, since he supposed she'd been right.

_Am I boring_, he thought. He shrugged. It didn't really matter. He could not be other than he was. His father had died to bring him his birthright, and the world and everything in it was depending on the depth of his conviction.

This night, however, he tried to forget... at least a little, of the weight he had to bear.

The young man stood straight, the servants nearly finished helping him get into the dress uniform. It consisted of a fine white high-collared coat cut in a military fashion. Golden stripes were embroidered down the length of the sleeves as well as the sides of the fine white breeches that covered his legs. Ornamental pauldrons of wrought gold covered his shoulders as well, though he had removed the plain iron circlet about his forehead. Instead, his brown and silver-streaked hair was pulled back into a tail and secured with a length of black ribbon.

Such a uniform was appropriate since the King had granted Valor the rank of Captain in the military, and he was the only officer of such rank now, since the army was gone. Due to his being Chosen he wasn't meant to serve, of course, but he had authority now over the City Guard that would curtail anymore mishaps like the one that had happened with the Lord-Captain Marcus that very morning.

Valor suddenly sighed sadly as he thought of the devastated army. So many of his countrymen dead.

Highland would have only its garrisons for some time before the army could be rebuilt. Until then, it would be virtually defenseless to any invading force that came in strength.

The Knighthoods that had disagreed to the King's making of a unified army were the only real military might left in the city, though they had lost a great deal of influence when the King had declared them contrary nearly two years before. King Highland had admitted that this had been pure foolishness on his part. On the morrow, he would restore the Knighthoods to their places of honor and he had even asked Valor if he wished to join any particular order and be officially Knighted.

Somehow, the boy knew it wouldn't have been right to except the honor. "I am no knight," he had replied. His cousin had looked at him sadly for a moment before having reminisced about his daughter.

After the servants were finished, Valor studied his appearance in the mirror only half-heartedly before stepping into the polished shin-high black boots that completed the uniform. When finished, he thanked the servants, who bowed, and exited the sitting room of his personal apartments. Just outside the door, two gold-armored guards saluted him, then fell in step on his flanks as he headed toward the Great Hall.

**IIIIIIIIII**

Sana-Lynn looked with shock at herself in the gilded standing mirror.

All her years in the White Temple had never prepared her for this. She had never worn clothes such as these, and what she saw before her was a transformation that she believed might be some kind of magic.

Her sleeveless dress was of a fine lavender silk, a slightly darker bodice snugging her chest, liberally decorated in gorgeous black-work embroidery. All in all, the clothes emphasized her bosom and hips in a way she never thought possible, especially since she had never worn anything but shapeless tunics and robes for so long. She wore elbow-length gloves of white silk, but had declined the wrought-silver bangles about her upper arms. Having worked with a bow and arrow for years had made her arms a little too muscular for them.

The King had allowed some of his daughter's ladies-in-waiting to attend Sana, and they had been so nice to her.

The oldest, Adra, had even brought out a small wooden box that contained various paints and powders, and worked with great skill in applying them to Sana's face. It seemed the cosmetics hadn't done much except in very subtle ways. Sana's eyes seemed a little larger, her lips a little fuller, the natural flush of her cheeks a bit more pronounced. Her long blond hair had also been brushed until it shone like silk then styled in a way that rolled up small buns over her ears in silver nets, and left a single loch to fall down one side of her face.

Sana blinked her hazel eyes a few times at her reflection. "Wow, is this really me?"

Lillia clapped her hands together in delight. "You are so beautiful, Lady Atha."

Adra nodded. "Indeed, my Lady, I doubt anyone will outshine you this night."

The White Mage turned from the mirror with a blush. "Thank you."

"Think nothing of it," another girl, Vera, said. "We have really missed doing this since –"

They all quickly lapsed into silence.

Sana knew the reason for their melancholy. "The four of us will rescue Princess Sarah, so please, don't worry about it too much." She paused to smile. "This really is the first time I have ever been to a ball."

"Is it a ball?" Lillia asked. "Or is it just a banquet?"

"I heard there will be music and dancing."

"And many handsome young noble men, like Lord Valor."

Lillia looked over at Sana with curiosity. "What do you think of Lord Valor, Lady Atha?"

"Oh... well... he is quite dashing, though he doesn't smile very much."

Vera nodded. "That's true. Ryton Archibald has such a wonderful smile."

Adra folded her white-gloved arms, considering. "The Count deLufron is also very handsome."

Lillia gave her a playful shove. "Oh, he's too old for us, Adra, and he's married."

"What of his younger brother, the Red Bard?"

Sana suddenly smiled. "You mean True Herring?"

Adra frowned at her. "A charlatan and a wastrel, that one. He's not as solid as his brother. And True Herring, ha! That is his player's name, my Lady. His real name is Chadler deLufron."

Vera sighed wistfully. "He does have a pretty smile though, Adra, you must admit. He is also quite charming."

"He is," Sana agreed with another blush.

Suddenly, Adra put her hands on her hips. "Perhaps, but we are wasting time here. We should all be heading to the Great Hall." She stopped to smile. "I am certain the night's entertainment is about to begin."

**IIIIIIIIII**

"Are you bloody kidding me?"

Gantz stood in a pair of linen undershorts and nothing else as the servants held up the clothes he was to wear to the event in the Great Hall.

A stiff-looking old fellow frowned down his beak of a nose at the thief. "Please, young Master –"

Gantz threw his hands up. "Whoa, stop it right there, fancy-pants. I ain't no bloody master, so just save yourself the breath. My name is Gantz, okay, very simple, very plain. Another thing here, gramps, is that I ain't wearing that stuffy get-up no matter how many servants try to shove me into it."

The fellow frowned and raised his nose even higher. Gantz wondered if he was going to fall over backwards. "Please, young... Gantz. You must be presentable to attend a function such as this. Anything less would be a breech of etiquette, not to mention a grave insult to the noble guests."

Suddenly a huge, feral grin plastered itself on the thief's face. "Oh really..." He rubbed his hands together with malevolent glee, before suddenly rushing from the room.

The old servant just sighed.

Gantz laughed like a monkey before he opened the chamber doors and slid out onto the white marble floor before the guards. "Hey tin cans, I haven't had a good chase in a while so why don't you try to catch me before I steal the most valuable thing I can get my grubby mitts on in this bloody palace."

"Wait, Sir Gantz, we are supposed to escort you," one of the men protested.

The thief barked a laugh. "Escort me? What bloody fun is that?" And he sped down the hall in his undershorts, servants in the corridor gasping as he blasted by.

Both the guards looked at each other and shook their heads.

**IIIIIIIIII**

The night air was especially cool here. It did much to calm her nerves after the incident in her apartments.

She had left the servants cowering in fear after she had burnt the dress they'd meant for her to wear into charred tatters. It had utterly infuriated her – a blasted dress! What kind of weak witless milksop did they think she was? She was no fool city trollop to go prancing about in such a ridiculously senseless garment!

Oh how that had angered her. She clenched her fists repeatedly, fantasizing about how cathartic it would be just blast every one of them to the Abyss and back. It had taken considerable will to restrain such an urge and Robin had nearly relented. Instead, unable to countenance any further stupidity, she had left her apartments, frozen her guards in place, and come out into the city.

Its seemed there was a festival of sorts in the market district where the common people cavorted while the slimy nobles had their formal gathering within the castle. Utterly disgusted with them all, Robin had stalked single-mindedly through the revelers, and all had parted for her and her blazing runes with alacrity.

She had wandered for hours until she finally entered a vast graveyard situated on a broad shallow hill. Nearing twilight, she now sat upon a large stone mausoleum, turning her charred rod in her hands and shaking her head.

The evening was so very peaceful here, the sounds of merrymaking far-removed and muted. Robin set her rod down and took off her wide-brimmed hat to run a hand through her short orange hair. Afterward, she looked down at the rows of tombstones spread out below her and sighed.

For the very first time she let her sense of duty waver. She truly didn't want to be here among all these fools. She just wanted to be back home amongst her own people; her proud, strong, simple people. Life had been so much easier there, and much more fulfilling as well. There she had been respected among everyone, clan and tribe. Even the elders had listened to her despite her youth. Her tribe's patron spirit had blessed her with his great power since birth and she had used her own strength to master that power and earn her place among them.

Flexing her hands, Robin suddenly worked at the knot of her mask before removing it and setting it down upon her hat. Her elfin face was now totally exposed, something she would never do around city dwellers. They had no truck with her, had earned no trust. Still, it felt good to take off the mask, like she could shed all the weight that fate had thrust upon her for one quiet night.

She would be eighteen within a fortnight, but looked just a shade over twelve. That was one reason why she shrouded herself. These bloody city dwellers would never take her seriously if they saw her like this. She was short, slender and even younger-looking than she was and they were so superficial. They would see nothing but a little girl, fit to ignore. She hated them so much for what they were, yet she was destined to save them. Of course, she was fighting to save her own people, not them, but they would be saved in the bargain.

Robin shook her head warily. Her eyes glowed mutely now, subtle like moonlight instead of the usual blazing intensity.

The girl looked down, however, as something below caught her attention. Slowly she stood, taking up her rod.

Her glowing eyes widened. Down below, mounds of earth stirred as clutching hands suddenly shot out and a pitiful chorus of moans began a doleful dirge throughout the night.

**IIIIIIIIII**

The Great Hall was massive, a vast rectangular room with high walls of pale stone. Elaborate cornices festooned the corners and elaborate stone-work murals marched about the walls in detailed relief. They were the scenes of battles, Valor noticed, armored men fighting demons and monsters, robed women casting mighty spells. Frozen in time these figures were, locked in their eternal struggle.

Though not the most studied historian, Valor quickly recognized this old battle. It had been in the days of the Great Archfiend, some five thousand years ago. Long before Highland had been founded, the Old Nations had fought with the Archfiend's minions. It was said that the world had been much different then. There really wasn't a lot to know of this old war since many of the records were fragmented when not entirely lost. Still, the oldest of Highland's prophecies had made mention of a great clash at the gates of the temple city Aza-Talzan. There the Overlord Chaos had watched as his fiend-possessed army had attacked the combined forces of the Old Nations. Led by the ancient Chosen of the Crystals, the human alliance had gained victory at great expense, winning only when the Warriors of Light had confronted the dread fiend Chaos and destroyed him.

Gazing at the murals, Valor noticed one elaborately armored man, his cape billowing about him as he raised a shining sword above his head. The old legend had told of Chaos's destruction at the hands of the original Light Warriors, yet also spoke of a rebirth of darkness... and light. That old war and its prophecy had been translated in its most recent incarnation by the Prophet Lukhan three centuries ago. Lukhan had called it the Prophecy of the End Times, and many others simply referred to it as the Prophecy of Lukhan. However, another name had been popularized by the time Valor had first heard it...

The Final Fantasy.

The young man stood at the wall near the corner of the room, his empty wine glass forgotten. The vastness of the Great Hall had made it easy to isolate himself from the islands of nobles and their polite conversation. Though a vast space was left open for dancing later upon the white-and-blue mosaic floor, most of the nobles had gathered near the eight long tables arrayed with finery where the multi-course meal would be served later. The buzz of many muted conversations filled the air, punctuated by a small orchestra tuning their instruments near the far wall, readying themselves for the official start to the festivities when the King arrived.

Valor remembered his admonition to himself about trying to forget his duty for at least this one night, but as he stared up at the mural, at the larger-than-life figure before him, he could not relinquish the weight. It felt as if all those centuries lay upon his shoulders, all the time between this day and that distant war. Everything else seemed so petty and small in comparison.

"You look so distant, my Lord? Does something vex you?"

Valor started and looked down, immediately blushing. Erin Arlington stood looking up at him, her large emerald eyes full of concern. She wore another fine black dress, embroidered heavily in thread-of-gold, her long darkly red hair flowing over one shoulder across the bosom of her dress.

Flustered, he did not answer immediately and the concern in her eyes deepened as she gently pressed her bosom against him.

He turned away more abruptly than he meant to before stammering an apology. "I... am not very good company at present, Lady Arlington. I have a great deal on my mind."

She walked about until she faced him again. He looked down, but she gently placed a hand upon his face. "I have heard the tale, as have us all. You are a Warrior of Light. Many rejoice and say we are saved, many have proclaimed you conquering heroes before the prophesied Dark War has even begun." She stopped to lower her hand, looking down. "Yet it must be a mighty burden you bear. It must be heavier than time itself."

Valor looked up, and their gazes met. "Yes... it is something like that, my Lady."

She gave him a gentle smile. "Please, call me Erin, Lord Valor."

"Thank you... Erin."

She smiled again. "Would you like another drink, Lord Valor?"

He blushed, finally noticing his wine glass. "...Yes, please."

She took the glass from him with a slight curtsy before heading off across the room toward the distant tables.

Valor watched her go, but soon his gaze strayed to the mural before him again.

A few minutes passed and there was giggle behind him. "Well there you are, Valor, I was looking for you."

Valor turned and his face went ablaze. "S-S-Sana-Lynn? By the gods, is that you?"

The White Mage giggled again. "Yeah I know, I was surprised too." She did a small spin for him in her lavender dress, laughing all the while. "What do you think?"

The Chosen of Earth sputtered for a bit. "You are mesmerizing!"

She smiled behind a gloved hand. "Wow, your eyes are about to pop out of your head."

Valor's face felt a furnace, but he quickly cleared his throat. He could not look away from her, however. The words he was going to use to excuse his lack of manners soon disappeared and he just stared.

Sana giggled more.

"Ah, and who is this then?" Erin asked politely.

Valor hadn't noticed her return, and forced his gaze away from Sana-Lynn. Quickly, he felt his lack of control keenly and shame swam over him. He took the proffered glass of red wine from his wife-to-be and gestured at Sana-Lynn. "This is the Chosen of Water, Sana-Lynn, a fellow Light Warrior, Erin."

"I see," Erin said. She looped her free arm through Valor's and smiled at the White Mage. "Ah, yes, you are a Priestess of the Order of the White Staff. I have heard something of you."

Sana gave a slight curtsy. "A pleasure to meet you as well. Are you a good friend of Valor's?"

The red-haired girl narrowed her green eyes. "Oh, but you've not been told? I am Valor's fiance. We were chosen to wed by our parents when we were very young. It is our destiny, you see."

Sana's smile faltered a bit. "Ah, all right." She gave herself a slight shake. "Anyhow, I was wondering if I might be able to dance with Valor one time this evening, perhaps during the Waltz."

Valor felt his fiance stiffen a bit. "I am sorry, but I do not believe that would be appropriate, nor give the proper impression amongst the nobles here."

"Oh, okay," Sana said subdued, before suddenly smiling again. She looked up at Valor. "Have you seen Gantz around?"

Irritation suddenly knit Valor's brow. "No, and I should hope not. There is no telling what kind of foolishness that ill-mannered rodent would cause at an event such as this."

Sana put a finger to her chin. "Oh really, he seems like he might liven it up. It is rather dull at the moment."

Erin smiled. "Well, the King has yet to arrive. When he does everything will officially start."

"Ah, I see," Sana said.

Erin gave her a measured nod before looking up at Valor. "Anyhow, my Lord, would you mind if we mingled a bit? If it pleases you, I would like you to meet some of my retainers."

Valor nodded his ascent before giving Sana a quick smile. "Please meet with some of the nobles here, Sana-Lynn. I have seen some good people of the middling Houses. A good night to you."

**IIIIIIIIII**

As Valor and his fiance turned toward the tables, Erin gave Sana a chilly look over her shoulder before lifting her chin and turning back.

The White Mage had gotten strange impressions from her, especially after the red-haired girl had failed to properly introduce herself to Sana. There was something wrong with this Erin girl, something... unusual. Still, it wasn't actual malevolence, so Sana just put it down to the other not liking her.

Odd as that was, Sana shrugged it away. As she headed back toward the tables, she noticed young men watching each other, then glancing at her, as if trying to see who was bold enough to approach her first. She smiled and giggled. This dress-up event was actually kind of fun. Sana knew she was pretty, but she never thought her looks would make men act like this. She remembered Valor's reaction and laughed.

She continued to laugh as a clamor sounded at the far end of the hall through the mighty double doors. A young man in nothing but linen undershorts shot into the Great Hall, much to the scandalized gasps and cries of nobles all about. Sana immediately knew it was Gantz and was laughing so hard her eyes teared.

He blasted through, sliding to a stop in the very center of the Great Hall. In one hand, he held an ornate silver scepter. In the other, he held a blue-striped fish. Sana had no idea what was going on, but she could not stop laughing.

The thief looked all about, an almost evil smile on his face as he laughed with demonic glee. "Hey all you bloody uptight buggers. How's your snooty little gathering here? I'm sure I've had more fun scratching hives. By the by, I ran all over this bloody palace, and you wouldn't believe the things I've seen. Do you have any idea how many pairs of lacy underwear Rina Archibald has?"

One of the noblewomen in the crowd suddenly fainted.

Suddenly, a clutch of gold-armored guards burst into the Great Hall, panting heavily. "Stop, thief!"

Gantz saw them and instantly whirled the fish over his head. He then threw it at them with amazing force. It smacked one guard in the face and knocked him down. The thief then turned toward the crowd, giving a mock bow. "Well, that's my cue. See you all later you bloody bunch of buffoons." And he took off in a blur before the guards started after him.

When Sana could breathe again, she wiped a tear from her eye. "I bet that really angered Valor."

"I bet it did at that, my Lady."

Sana turned and suddenly blushed. "True?"

"I have arrived, my vision." The Red Bard executed a formal bow, doffing his red hat and putting it to his chest. He took her hand gently and kissed it before rising again. "I must say, your beauty is a pale splendor reminiscent of the Goddess of Love upon her pearlescent throne. Woe to all men that look upon you, for they will surely have their reason drowned in the vast sea of your amber eyes."

"Wow..." Sana breathed, blushing fiercely as the Red Bard took her hand and kissed it again.

He stood and replaced his red hat. She looked up at him, her mind reeling for something to say. "Um... you certainly do like red don't you."

She immediately felt foolish but True simply smiled. "It has a special significance for me, my Lady." He offered her his arm and she quickly slid hers through it, her face still suffused.

"Can you tell me about it?"

"On one condition, my Lady. You must dance with me tonight during the Waltz. If you promise me that then I shall grant you anything you ask of me."

"Of course, True, I would love to dance with you. However, I am not very practiced at it."

He smiled again. "Oh, not to worry, my vision. I will teach you. As to your question: I have undergone a great deal of trials in my life to arrive at this point in time. I suppose you could say that the scarlet color of my robes symbolizes these trials. I may not seem like the type, but I _have_ made sacrifices. It is only fitting then, that the blood I have shed should always be apart of me, figuratively if not literally."

Sana nodded in awe. "Really, that is quite close to what the red triangles of a White Mage's robe symbolize."

"Ah, yes," he said. "I know something of the Order of the White Staff."

She looked up, curious. "Do you mean you were an apprentice once?"

"Something like that," True grinned mysteriously. "I have walked many paths."

"Ah, then what do the alternating white and black triangles on the hem of your cape mean?"

He looked off with a wistful smile. "A dichotomy, if you will."

She nodded. "You mean like good and evil, or darkness and light?"

He patted her hand. "Yes, but not exactly. I have learned that light is not always good, and darkness is not always evil. The triangles are there to remind me of that."

Sana stopped dead when she sensed something incredibly familiar about him. "Are you a White Mage?"

He laughed and leaned close, whispering into her ear. "No, my dear. I am a red one."

Suddenly, True glanced over at a group of nobles near one of the tables. He gently let go of Sana with another formal flourish of his cape. "If you would excuse me, my Lady, I have business to attend to. I will come for my dance, however, so do not stray far."

She looked at him, intrigued. "I will be here."

"Then I will be happy. Until the Waltz, my vision." And he turned away.

Sana could not help but grin at his back as he left. Still, she had no idea what he'd meant.

What in the realm was a Red Mage?

**IIIIIIIIII**

Gantz sat on the thin pallet and let out a long contented sigh. "Well, that was fun."

He looked through the narrow bars of the cell he was in. There was a torch bracketed to the stone wall outside. Its flame flickered fitfully as footsteps announced the presence of guards, several of which stopped in a line before the cell. The Lord-Captain Marcus looked decidedly displeased as he spoke. "The King has seen fit to grant you a pardon for your crimes, considering your status as a Light Warrior. Let me remind you that this is the only pardon you will receive from him. Any further lewd misconduct on your part will make you susceptible to the full writ of the law. Is this understood?"

Gantz stood up. "Yes, Captain Windbag, it's understood. Oh, by the way, I get to fight to keep the whole bloody world from going to the dogs, so your King isn't going to do a damn thing to me no matter what, so save the empty threats, okay. Besides, I've had my fun, and I gave everything back – even the fish! – so bloody relax."

The captain growled, but made a sharp gesture to the jailer. A rotund fellow in a greasy leather frock shuffled forward and brandished a set of keys before unlocking the cell door.

Gantz swaggered out. "Ah, sweet freedom." Flanked by guards, he moved down the cramped ill-lit corridor, passing other cells when he suddenly stopped dead. "Someone is down here."

"What are you blathering about, boy?"

Pure seriousness sharpened the thief's words. "Dark Elves, I can feel them."


	19. The Veil Descends

**The Veil Descends**

With a sneer, the Dragonfang wrenched his spear free of the goblin corpse.

All around lay the ruins of a village in the very northern reaches of Highland Kingdom. It had been filled with peasant homesteaders, a focal point of trade for many nearby farms.

Now it was filled with corpses.

A massive goblin invasion had flooded south from a vast forest several miles north. The nasty little humanoids had come in the hundreds, a vanguard of worg riders rushing ahead. The main body of that force was still heading south, but Dorn didn't care. He had landed Araka here and destroyed the goblin raiders that had sidled off to attack this village.

He had come late, without the intention of saving anyone, and the last few dozen villagers watched him in silent horror as he cleaned his spearhead of black goblin blood.

He was encased in his black dragon armor from head to toe, only the grim line of his lips visible on his lower face. His dark eyes shone through the visor slits as he gave the peasants a contemptuous glance.

He had made it clear he was no friend of theirs and they huddled together away from him.

The village square was littered with bodies, human and goblin. The Dragonfang's black cape fluttered in a cool northern wind as he turned, lifting his spear above his head. It's wicked steel blade glittered in the weak sunlight of an overcast morn, and an acknowledging roar suddenly answered in the distance.

With one last glance at the huddled peasants, Dorn suddenly readied and leapt high as a massive shadow passed overhead. With practiced ease, he came into the saddle of Araka as the black wyvern swooped low to retrieve him.

Afterward, they headed east toward the so-called Temple of Fiends. The Dragonfang knew from the previous reports that his foe would be there. Anger and a ready thirst for vengeance spurred him on...

**IIIIIIIIII**

Gantz cursed himself for an utter fool.

Here he was in his bloody undershorts, knife-less, in a dimly lit dungeon corridor, flanked by three fool guards and dark elf assassins were coming. He could almost smell them.

Well, not exactly smell them, but for some odd reason, his previous experience with these creatures made him alert of their presence. Or maybe it merely the presence of danger. He wasn't really certain, but he could almost feel odd vibrations coming to him as stirrings in the musty air...

The air... hmm. An odd thing that, a warning from the air itself.

"What do you mean, boy? Dark Elves? It cannot be. They are only legends," Captain Marcus muttered.

Gantz rolled his eyes. "So are Light Warriors, fool noble. Trust me, these particular pointy-eared legends are real enough and more deadly than any human I've ever fought."

The man was incredulous. "You say you've fought them before? Preposterous."

Gantz sighed in irritation. Why was he wasting his breath? "Listen to me, you pompous git. We can use this narrow corridor to keep them coming at us only a few at a time, but that means we keep our backs together and stay tight, understand?"

"This is a poor jest if I'd ever heard one."

Gantz growled and turned. Marcus stood with his arms folded, his two subordinates at his flanks. The dungeon corridor was barely wide enough for the three men abreast and Gantz couldn't believe he was going to have to trust them to watch his back. If the Dark Elf assassins had any kind of numbers, it was the only way the four of them were going to get out alive.

The thief gave the gold-armored Guard-Captain a pointed look. "I'd believe me real quick if I were you. Stay together and watch my back. Do that, and I'll watch yours. I'm fast enough to keep this side of the corridor clear, but only if you three can handle anything that comes from your side."

Marcus just shook his head. "I'll humor you, boy, but this is ludicrous."

Gantz felt another stirring, another warning. "I'll remember you said that. Anyway, I need two knives, and I need them now."

"Knives, what good will that do?"

"I can't fight armed foes with my bloody bare hands. Give me some knives. Surely you guards have knives."

The captain just shook his head, but one of the younger men nodded. "I've got a brace of them. They are just tools really, for cutting fruit or idle carvings. They're not very sharp."

Gantz prompted the man to give them up. "Yeah, I know, you nobles and you're bloody swords. Don't worry, they'll do, just give me two."

The guard unsheathed them and handed them over. Gantz took them and inspected them with his appraising eye. Sure enough, they were far inferior to his own, but what choice was there? None, that was bloody what!

"Ready yourselves," Gantz said as he turned his back to the guards, his keen dark eyes searching the ill-lit corridor ahead. The strange stirrings came urgently now. He shifted himself into a low guarded position, the knives held in a reversed grip in each hand.

Waiting now, he cursed himself again. What had happened to his caution, his professionalism? Ever since he had left the docks district he had done nothing but thumb his nose at nobles, acting like a mint green footpad. Blast it all, it had started when he'd met that bloody uptight Valor.

Gantz shook his head. Yes, he liked rubbing nobles the wrong way, but he was also a professional. Now more than ever he needed that caution. Now more than ever, he needed to be alert.

Regardless, he wouldn't let this happen again. Getting caught naked without even his throwing daggers to fall back on. That was just pure stupid foolishness. He was a M_aster_ Thief, and he'd better get it together.

A strange stirring wind interrupted his thoughts and soon they came, wicked blades flashing...

**IIIIIIIIII**

Robin Magus laughed uproariously, as she replaced her mask and wide-brimmed hat. All her previous self-doubt vanished as she watched the living dead claw their way free of the earth.

With her rod gripped in one hand, she held out the other, muttering mystic incantations under her breath. Just above her outstretched palm coalesced a brilliant sphere of crackling incandescent flame. With a roar, she hurled it down into the midst of the wandering dead.

It exploded before a clutch of milling zombies, blowing them to pieces and burning what was left.

She turned, able to look upon the graves below from her perch upon the mausoleum. It gave her a clear view over much of the graveyard. It was a massive place, filled with row upon row of stirring graves and the now milling dead in incredible numbers.

They were such pitiful things, groaning with the insatiable need that drove their un-lives. From so many, it was a veritable dirge.

It sickened the Black Mage to no end and she turned to destroy them where they shambled below, none of them able to come to grips with her before she sent them into a fiery oblivion.

Then suddenly something struck her from behind. She flew off the mausoleum and landed upon a soft mound of freshly churned earth, surrounded by a pungent mixture of decay and char.

Having just missed a fractured gravestone, Robin managed her feet, lucky to have landed on soft earth. Her blazing eyes widened, however, when she looked up upon the mausoleum and saw something perched there.

It was a dark mottled gray-skinned creature, distended and emaciated. It stared at her intently with feverish yellow eyes set in an unholy skull-face, a long grayish tongue writhing from its mouth.

Before Robin could even summon another ball of flame, the creature was gone.

The Black Mage immediately took hold of her fear and quashed it as she saw a shambling group of zombies coming up to her, dead arms reaching for the the warmth of her flesh.

She turned and stretched forth a hand, summoning a searing cone of flame that consumed them all utterly.

Still, Robin did not relax. These lesser undead could surround her now, she had lost her advantage. She didn't know where that other creature had gone, but she had the distinct feeling it was toying with her. It had come upon her utterly silent and could have killed her. Instead, it had knocked her down here to let the lesser undead have her. She knew instinctively that she had not seen the last of it.

Robin moved, backtracking her way through the graves. Clutches of zombies and skeletons, pursued her and she blew them apart as they approached. They were no match for her magical flame, but she could not cast forever and they outnumbered her greatly.

She had to form a plan... so she moved.

**IIIIIIIIII**

Valor was starting to worry now.

It had been nearly two hours and the nobles guests were stirring anxiously. The King had not come to the Great Hall in all this time.

Something was most certainly wrong.

Valor stood before one of the banquet tables, his wine glass empty again. Erin stood to his side chatting amiably with the Lord and Lady Hanin, nobles of a middling House sworn to her own.

Suddenly, Valor's wife-to-be touched his arm. "My Lord, are you well?"

The Chosen of Earth shook his head. "This is far beyond fashionably late, Erin. There is something wrong, I can feel it."

Erin nodded. "Yes, it _is_ quite odd for the King to be so late to his own banquet."

Valor knit his brow. "Indeed."

Suddenly, a herald at the end of the Great Hall near the open double doors called out. "The Lady Duchess Aria of Loftlan and her honored guest, the High Priest Dalton of the Order of the White Staff."

"Finally," Valor breathed. "Please, Erin, Lord and Lady Hanin, if you would excuse me."

They nodded - Erin reluctantly - and Valor moved. He went across the mosaic floor, his mother in an elaborate white dress slashed in silver, her argent hair done up in a silver net studded with sapphires. Dalton stood to her side, the short old Headmaster dressed in his plain white robes. He'd never wore anything different as far as Valor had seen, stroking his beard pensively while gripping his ashen staff.

Valor let out a relieved sigh at seeing them. "Finally, you two have arrived."

His mother gave him an oddly sad smile. "Yes, it is time, my son, time for it to begin in earnest."

Valor frowned. "Of what do you speak, mother?"

Old Dalton stroked his beard anxiously. "The Veil descends –"

Suddenly there was a flush of nervous cries from the far end of the Great Hall near the other double doors. One of them was opened now and dark figures moved in with a strange fluid grace. They stood enfolded in black from head to toe, even their faces covered over by coifs of black cloth. All of them were oddly lean and menacing just standing there. For some reason, they reminded Valor of the fool urchin, Gantz.

There was a dozen of them, and they formed a semi-circle, parting only to let a single man through.

He strode in between them, and the Valor's eyes widened. It was the Lord Sumpter Baigan. He came in wearing an odd uniform of black with crimson embroidery up the sleeves. He stopped and gave a curt signal. As one, each of the shrouded figures with him unsheathed wicked scimitars.

Many nobles in the hall gasped or cried in alarm.

Valor noticed that Baigan himself carried a crossbow held down at his side. It was of lighter compact model, already loaded with a deadly quarrel. Baigan gazed around the room with an oddly smug smile. "Ah, it seems I've interrupted something. Another fool gathering of ingrates ready to fawn over the feeble King of a dying country."

Valor's jaw immediately clenched in outrage, but his mother gripped his arm to stop him. He looked back and caught the urgency in her eyes and her quick head shake. Strangely, she gave him another sad smile. "You must not act now, my son. Things must happen a certain way. Do not worry, you will be able to take action soon enough. First, however, watch your fiance."

The boy shook his head. "Erin? Whatever for, mother?"

"Watch, my son, and learn."

**IIIIIIIIII**

Sana-Lynn knew now why True had brought her white staff. He stood beside her, both of them next to the mural near the west wall of the Great Hall. She looked up at him, and his violet eyes were calm. He effected an air of skillful nonchalance, but Sana could see that one of his white-gloved hands gripped the hilt of his rapier as if he meant to draw it anytime.

The entrance of the black-clad figures and a blond burly nobleman in a black outfit had interrupted the gathering decisively and it seemed all eyes were on the intruders.

Not taking his gaze from the man, True leaned down to whisper. "That is the Count Baigan, and, as I suspected, he had something planned for this night. Do not worry, we were not wholly unprepared for this."

She gave him a grin. "There is no need to reassure me, True. I am the Light Warrior here, remember?"

He chuckled in spite of himself and looked down. "You are truly a vision of strength, Sana-Lynn, but this night will not end with a Waltz, I fear."

Sana gave a grim nod and hardened the grip on her staff. The ashen length of wood felt good in her hands, as always. It was no quarterstaff, but a tall crooked length of smooth ash, the symbol of her order. Yes, it could be used as a sort of cudgel if it came to it, but mainly it was a focus for the sacred power that Sana now had humming within her being...

The subtle might of the Holy.

As she watched the dark figures with their blades bared, scanning all in the room, Sana suddenly gulped. She had never been in a real battle before. She had trained and trained for years, working with the power of the sacred Holy and gaining its blessings, but she had never before cast in a real fight.

Again without looking down, True spoke. "Do you now of the spell called Dia?"

Sana-Lynn gave a nervous twitch, but nodded quickly. "Yes, it summons a burst of holy light. It is especially effective against undead and other beings of darkness." She hesitated. "Those dark-clad creatures are not undead, however. The Holy would allow me to sense such a thing."

True nodded, before idly adjusting his feathered red hat with his free hand. He looked down, as if to cover what he was saying. "Yes, they are not undead, but they _are_ creatures of darkness. Dia will not destroy them, but it will hinder them. When the fight begins, you must use it."

She looked up at him. "Do you know what they are, True?"

"Yes, and I would rather they were undead."

**IIIIIIIIII**

Valor stood still at his mother's side and at her behest, but his whole body was tense. The feeling of _wrongness_ would not leave him. It seemed to permeate the room thick as any miasma. It should have been visible. He could almost smell its evil tainting everything in the Hall.

Yet he stood and watched as Baigan strutted purposefully up toward Erin Arlington. Every instinct in Valor's being screamed that he should rush to her side; that he should protect her. He was straining against himself not to do exactly that.

His mother put a hand gently on his shoulder. "She was never what she seemed, Valor. I tell you this now because the end is close. Before this time, it had to be my secret from everyone. Even you, my son."

The boy gaped at her, still not understanding. She only smiled sadly at him again.

Baigan brandished the crossbow as he came to tower over Erin. The noble Hanins to her flank shrank back, but the girl stood her ground, if only reluctantly. She was shocked, it was plain to see from here.

Baigan gave her a mocking bow. "Ah, my Lady, as you can see, I am here to fulfill my part of our bargain."

Erin recovered quickly and lifted her chin. "I have no idea of what you speak, Lord Baigan."

He grinned rather malevolently, showing his teeth. He spoke loudly enough that no one in the Hall could miss his words. "Of course you don't. Nonetheless, my time of pandering to you is at an end. My master gave me a new gift very recently. I am eager to show it to all the fools of this hall... yet, I am a man of my word. I promised you a death for your favor, and a death you shall have."

This set off murmuring amongst the nobles. Erin looked around incredulously, her control tenuous. Valor could not believe what he was hearing.

Baigan reared back his head and laughed raucously. "Where is your father, Erin, the Lord Oster Arlington? Has he attended this peacock's parade of fools tonight? I surely hope so, for I have a gift for him."

Yes, the older man was there, wearing only the simplest of finery. Friends looked to try and protest his going, but Oster did not allow it, striding up to the Lord Baigan with an angry tilt to his jaw. "You callow cur, what in the Realm and Wrath are you doing here, spouting such treacherous nonsense!"

Baigan laughed again. "Oh you poor old fool. You have no idea then, that your daughter is false. Yes, she is lovely and undoubtedly has played the faithful child to you and your idealistic wife. Unfortunately, this side of her is but a mask she uses to hide the viper beneath."

Oster growled, reaching for the longsword at his side, but before it even rasped free, Baigan lowered the crossbow and – without hardly aiming - fired. The quarrel left with a twang, striking the old knight in the right shoulder, hitting with such force that it spun the man around before dumping him to his back.

Everyone gasped, including Valor, and his mother restrained him no more. Valor rushed up and knelt before the old knight, his father's friend. Oster gritted his teeth, and looked up to meet the boy's gaze. The quarrel was securely lodged in his shoulder, staining the old knight's uniform in blood.

Dalton reached the man's side in a shuffle of white robes and took in the whole wound in a second. The old scholar nodded decisively before bringing up his staff. He was interrupted by Baigan, however...

"Careful, old mage. Heal Oster, and I swear to all the Dark Gods of the Abyss that I will slay his daughter with my bare hands here and now."

Dalton looked up, his bushy brows knit. "That you should swear to such gods shows how blackly stained your soul has become, wicked one."

Baigan only barked a laugh. "The blackest soul will pale compared to what I have become. In fact, I am tired of playing these games." He dropped the crossbow and it clattered to the floor. With that very hand, he turned and slapped Erin hard across the face, causing gasps throughout the room.

The girl fell to the floor and Valor found a bestial roar escaping him. Without thought, he took off running, his right fist clenched down by his side. Baigan barely saw him coming, just turning his head as Valor's fist struck him with full force. With the Earth Crystal's blessing, Valor's strength was much more than he knew, and there was an audible crack as Baigan's jaw shattered and the man himself flew across the room to slam into the side of one of the murals.

The whole Hall breathed audibly again, as the Count Sumpter Baigan hit with thundering force, cracking the mural in several places. He collapsed unmoving.

Valor then turned, awaiting the dark-clad figures to come to their master's aid. Strangely, however, they did not move, just standing with blades bared – inhumanly still, in fact.

Then the boy looked back, still reeling at his own strength, yet utterly stunned to see Baigan standing from the floor. He did so with difficulty, a hand coming up to keep his jaw together enough for him to form words. "A... very good blow, boy. You would have made a fine son, had your mother not been so persistently stubborn in rebuffing my advances."

Valor shook his head. "She saw the fool in you long before this blatant display!"

Baigan stood, and suddenly his jaw was whole. He worked it a few times before taking several seconds to ostentatiously brush off the dust from his uniform. Murmuring started throughout the room. No one could have taken such a blow and lived. Valor himself still had trouble believing he had struck Baigan so incredibly hard, yet the man seemed little fazed now.

"A fool you say? Yes, indeed, young Valor, I have been such a thing. No more, however ...no more..."

And then he began to change...


	20. Geomancy

**Geomancy**

It was night now.

To Robin's glowing eldritch eyes, it would have still been easy enough to see except that now a thick gray mist had crept throughout the cemetery.

It was a churning brume, and effectively obscured sight more than twenty feet away. The light from the gibbous moon overhead was captured and diffused by the mist, giving the whole necropolis a soft otherworldly glow.

The Chosen of Fire's fortune had certainly gone from bad to worse. She hid for now, in the niche of a massive elaborate gravestone, shaped into the likeness of a hooded angel that towered above her, its stone face concealed by a stone cowl.

Here she sat, trying to control her breathing. She would not allow herself to fear, though it was difficult. She felt her heart beat just as she heard the dirge coming from the countless undead roaming beyond sight in the thick of the subtly glowing brume.

They were everywhere and she was exhausted. She could not remember how many walking corpses she had destroyed, but this place harbored more, so many more. She wouldn't doubt if the whole of the vast graveyard was now animate and her mind raced for some kind of plan. She didn't have the stamina to destroy every last corpse that walked in this place, there had to be another way.

She sat with her back to cold stone, soft earth beneath her, steadying her breathing. The night was cold, unnaturally so. It had to be mists, and Robin knew they were as unnatural as the walking dead. She searched her memories. She had learned a great deal about certain kinds of creatures, the wild and dangerous denizens of the forests and plains that her tribe had shared. She had learned to hunt such creatures, and to know when she was being hunted, but she knew that she had little experience with undead.

She recalled the memory of an incident in an old ruin some miles south of her tribe's village. The Shaman elder of the village had been called to investigate such an incident and had brought Robin along. She had been twelve then, already quite used to her powers. The elder had brought her to the ruin and there they had found a clutch of desiccated zombies milling about. The elder had called his ancestral spirits to bind the undead while Robin had summoned her fire and burned them to nothing.

It had been laughably easy, but what the elder had told her afterward was the lesson she had needed to learn. Undead were unnatural, but they occurred sometimes in places where death was gathered. Strange winds would blow and a strong lingering need of a corpse may animate it. Such occurrences were rare, however, and usually if one were to wait, the corpse would soon fall to true death again. For such creatures to be sustained for any length of time meant something else was at work. It meant forbidden magic, magic of death used by a living mind for twisted purposes. Also, intelligent undead did not exist except for such methods, a perversion of the natural balance that the spirits of nature abhorred. The elder had faced such a cabal of renegade tribesman long ago when he'd been young.

The Black Mage nodded. Someone living was behind this, and most likely more than one. Strike at the root and the rest would fall. Robin now had her plan.

She huddled in on herself, her glowing runes having been gone this whole time. She dare not light a beacon for the undead to find her before she was ready. Instead, she retreated into herself and on the source of black magic in her soul. She felt the currents flow through her like liquid fire in her veins, a blazing torrent allowing her to sense the source of other magic all around her.

Yes... she felt them. Lines of ugly twisted magic flowing through the earth beneath her. Such sorcery was a corrupted reversal of true earth magic, infusing buried corpses with unnatural life. She followed these sensations in spirit, her ability allowing her to sense a coalescence of such power which emanated from the north of her. There she felt something like the pulse of a heartbeat not her own. It was a sick and twisted heart pulsing with viscous black blood... the forbidden energy of death magic.

Such a feeling threatened Robin's very existence, and she had to fight its power. Suddenly all about her, an invisible sense of ugliness threatened to weigh her down, to leech the strength from her body, the will from her mind. She cringed, clenching her jaw.

_You dare try this on me, darkness. Ha! I will never succumb to you – you will succumb to me!_

Robin opened her eldritch eyes and they blazed. Runes of fire flared about her with white-hot intensity burning away the mist around her like nothing. She stood, fixing her black robes, and gripping her charred rod in both hands. A bestial growl rolled up from deep in her throat.

Her orange runes added to the glow of the surrounding mists and almost immediately a group of worm-eaten zombies shambled out of the brume, moaning piteously with arms outstretched.

Robin held up one hand, palm up, as the things came closer. A ball of orange-white fire grew to hover just above her palm until it was the size of an apple, its writhing light creating lunatic shadows that danced about the surrounding mists.

When she could smell the scents of freshly dug earth mixed with decayed flesh, Robin hurled the ball of flame and it struck the closest zombie. The creature emitted no shriek as it was consumed, just moaning for warm flesh, feeling no other pain than its insatiable need until there was nothing left of it to cry out.

Another larger fireball flew from the girl and detonated in the midst of the remaining zombies. The explosion consumed them in fire, turning them to torches that lit up the mists all around. Still, they continued forward until they were consumed utterly to ash. The magic flame ate at them greedily until nothing was left. The living flame was their weakness. The elder had taught Robin that also.

When they were no more, the Black Mage headed north, moving cautiously. She went from gravestone to gravestone, careful of where she planted each step. The necropolis was built upon a gently sloping hill, the inclination so slight that it almost felt flat, but Robin knew she was going upward. As she moved, her eyes constantly scanned the brume as it whirled phantom-like about her. A sudden clutch of skeletons appeared to her left, but before they could even start to advance on her, the girl summoned a gout of flame from an outstretched hand. In a blazing roar it consumed the skeletons, burning their bones to nothing but a charred scent in the air.

Robin moved further.

With her world so constricted, it felt as if time had no meaning here. The mists writhed, giving life to short-lived apparitions that flowed one into another, and Robin wondered if she had not descended into the Abyss itself. More zombies and skeletons appeared, but their reactions were too slow and Robin was a living font of the very power for which they had no defense.

With the girl's magical sense leading her, she could not get lost or, though she stopped when she came near the entrance of a massive crypt adorned with oddly grotesque gargoyles. Robin scanned the structure's heavy stone facade, worked elaborately in carvings and relief. Odd little imps cavorted with the larger gargoyles who acted as sentries against foreign spirits... yet Robin got the sense that something else was among these inanimate carvings. Her eldritch eyes stopped on a rusted iron gate, cinched with chains though no lock was in evidence. It was down in the crypt that the dark sense coalesced. She would have to enter.

Out of the corner of her eye, one of the gargoyles seemed to rear up, and Robin instinctively ducked and rolled to her left. She heard stone shatter as she got back to her feet, and her eyes narrowed as she saw the mottled black thing crouching on another gravestone before her. It was twice as tall as she, long of limb, emaciated, with overly long fingers that flexed with incredible strength. Its skull-face harbored large rheumy eyes that stared unblinking at her. This was no shambling zombie, nor mindless skeleton. It was the thing from before, the one that had knocked her from the mausoleum.

Robin got to her feet in a guarded stance. The air smelled of rancid meat, threatening to nauseate the Black Mage, but she kept herself under control and took slow steps back from the thing.

It just watched her, its skull-face locked in a fleshless grin, its feverish eyes shining in the glow from Robin's sigils of fire. It had come down and destroyed a gravestone with one of its powerful fists, but now perched on another, suddenly opening its mouth and letting its viscous dark tongue writhe out to drip ichor. The tongue was long and thick, another unnatural organ grown by the unholy transition of what this thing had once been into what it had now become.

"_Gooooooooooooollllll_," the thing breathed in a guttural rasp, and then said no more. Robin summoned a ball of flame and the thing looked to it with its feverish gaze. It suddenly tensed and Robin readied, but it turned and leapt away... into the mists.

Robin growled and went after it. She couldn't possibly enter the crypt with this thing following her. It was likely to be close-in down there, with little room to maneuver and this thing would have her instantly. Why it continued to toy with her, she didn't know, but it would stop playing eventually and if it caught Robin in its grasp, there would be no fighting it then. Robin knew she was no melee fighter, and it would have been utter stupidity to think otherwise. That this thing was undead, she had no doubt. Her fire would destroy it.

She ran, perhaps too carelessly for she stumbled upon another clutch of zombies and skeletons. She sent her fireball into them and blew them apart, but before she could conjure another, the black thing leapt from the mists. Robin barely side-stepped as the thing swooped passed her, one of its long-fingered hands catching her robes and flinging her through the air. She struck soft earth and rolled to a stop. Slightly dazed, she shook her head before looking up... directly into the yellow rheumy gaze of the monster.

This close, the stench of old meat was nearly overwhelming and Robin could not help but gag. Then the thing lifted her easily, holding her above the ground. It then opened its distended maw and its grotesque tongue slid out to hover near Robin's face. She only thought the smell had been bad before. Then slowly, the thing licked her cheek, and Robin shuddered, using all her will not to vomit down her front.

The girl growled and looked again into the thing's face. She summoned all her defiance into that look, and the thing somehow seemed to grin even deeper. It then released her and she fell to the ground. She got to her knees and saw the thing take another perch upon a gravestone. As it did, a wall of lesser undead came in through the mist at the creature's back, their moans a wailing dirge.

The Black Mage stamped down her fear. Having never lost hold of her rod, she summoned the fiery sigils about her and a ball of fire quickly hovered over one palm. She flung the fireball at the perched monster, but it easily leapt out of the way and the magic fire exploded into the wall of zombies behind it.

The lesser undead continued up in a shambling wave and Robin had no choice but to blast them to pieces. Ball of flame after ball of flame was launched into the undead, but those that were consumed were replaced by others just as quick. Robin saw the black monster watching her intensely, perched above the lesser creatures that ignored it completely. Suddenly, however, it opened its maw and its tongue shot out to wrap about a passing zombie. Without protest, the lesser undead was brought back into the thing's distended jaw where it was promptly eaten. The monster chewed noisily, the crack of the zombie's bones audible even above the dirge of the lesser undead. The black monster's viscous ichor seemed to dissolve the zombie as it was consumed, though large pieces still fell from the creature's maw as it fed messily.

Robin had no time to be disgusted. She turned and fled, her breathing already hoarse, but something flew over her head to land. The mottled black creature was suddenly in front of her and with a backhand blow flung her back toward the coming tide of lesser undead.

Dazed, Robin had trouble forcing herself to her feet. When her head cleared, she looked up to see the ghoulish thing perched on another gravestone nearly above her, its tongue wrapped about her charred rod, which the mage realized she no longer held.

Behind her, the tide of lesser undead came on, their piteous cries getting louder all the time.

She had no choice now. She would have to summon her power without her focus. That such might destroy her, she had to risk, for she had no other option. The ghoul would not surrender her rod. As always, it seemed content to let the lesser undead overwhelm and feed on her. It probably wanted to watch.

That it would dare such a foul thing fueled Robin's rage, but she closed her eyes and concentrated on the eldritch energies within her. She would summon the burst, but beyond that, she would have no control over what happened. She would have to use all her being to keep from being consumed by her own magic and hoped that such would be enough to keep her whole.

An intense pain clenched Robin's lungs together as if in a vice grip. Her breathing became labored and harsh as the burning power grew within in her being. Like a too-full reservoir, the sluice gate of her will became strained, but she tried to hold it together as the power mounted within her. She couldn't let it go until she knew the explosion would be devastating enough to destroy everything around her. She coughed painfully, each beat of her heart becoming restricted. Her sense of time seemed to slow, her eyes closed, her body clenched.

Above, the emaciated ghoul looked down with curiosity in its feverish gaze before it suddenly frowned. The human's glowing eyes snapped open just a split second before the very air turned white –

A shrieking explosion blew out in a wave of concentrated white fire, striking the ghoul like a solid wall. Earth and stone turned to ash, and a shock-wave blasted the mist away, consuming it as it consumed all else. Undead flesh was seared to air, and the ghoul was utterly obliterated. The blast wave struck the facade of the crypt and the stone immediately glowed, turning red then white-hot before it melted and warped, chunks of it simply turning to embers blown about in the roaring white rage...

And then it was over.

Huddled in the fetal position, Robin suddenly lurched up, gasping and coughing, smoke roiling from her mouth, which was so dry she could not breath. She tried desperately to suck in air, but even her lungs felt scorched. She coughed and coughed, her hands going to her throat as if she could force air into her body, but she got nothing, blackness jabbing at the edge of her consciousness. She lurched again and gave a shuddering breath and suddenly she was able to breathe. She gulped in air through lips so parched that they bled, and then simply lay there, looking up into the clear night sky, the gibbous moon shining down at her.

She heard no moans, no pitiful chorus. The ground around her was scorched black, the acrid smell of char heavy in the air. Gravestones in the immediate area were black slag when they were not gone altogether. Ones farther away were molten stone, still red-hot. She managed to stand, just as a sudden strong wind surged into the area. Robin held on to her singed wide-brimmed hat as the winds blasted her. Then everything was calm.

Her whole body ached like nothing she could remember, but she cringed through it and forced herself toward the crypt. A little ways off, she found her charred rod. Enchanted, the thing had fortunately withstood the blast, and Robin scooped it up. Her body unclenched a little as she moved toward the half-melted gates. The chains that had cinched them them were now a pool of molten metal on the ground. The whole facade of the crypt was warped, many carvings now twisted, many gargoyles unrecognizable. The structure's thick construction however meant that it had only been changed, not obliterated, and Robin went down into the crypt, her sandals scratching on stone steps. Her body was still sore, her mouth still parched, but she felt much better than she had. Surviving her own unfettered power emboldened her. These fools had no idea what was about to fall upon them.

The narrow stone corridor seemed to leech sound from her movements, and torches on the walls were lit with strange emerald flames to provide light. The stone walls were carved in grotesque images, a horde of ravenous imps and demons devouring each other, but Robin paid them no mind. She passed side corridors which were even narrower than the one she walked, when she entered under a broad archway into a large pentagonal chamber, each corner of it studded by a huge statue carved into the likeness of a demon. A great stone dais arose from the center of the room, with a half-dozen black-cloaked figures surrounding a huge standing sarcophagus centered on the dais. The chamber was lit with more emerald fires burning in stanchions around the perimeter, and the eerie green flame flung flippant shadows all about.

The robed figures all chanted deeply, making them male, though a lone figure strode with a languorous sway passed them before making her way up to the sarcophagus, its front carved elaborately into the likeness of an armored warrior.

Robin came in to stand just inside the archway and growled audibly. Quickly, all the figures stopped chanting and turned toward her, the female leader doing so as well.

Robin's eyes blazed balefully. "You twisted scum! How _dare_ you disrupt the balance like this!" Her voice echoed loudly throughout the chamber.

The leader pulled back her hood to reveal a Dark Elf's sleek countenance, her pale features and long black hair a stunning contrast. A wicked black tattoo covered her face in a stylized mask, and her painted black lips formed an amused smile. Her dark voice also echoed in the chamber. "Ah, a small child has come to whine about the noise. I am shocked." And she suddenly laughed.

Robin gripped her rod as the other black-cloaked figures suddenly came forward, reaching beneath their robes to pull out wicked daggers. Robin shook her head. "Those will not help you."

The female leader suddenly hissed, and the male elves surged forward with wordless howls. Robin summoned her electric blue runes and crackling energy surrounded her. She flung out her hand and sizzling arcs of electric power stabbed through the charging Dark Elves until they were merely singed corpses burning on the floor. Not a one had even gotten close to her.

Robin looked up. "Do you have anymore subordinates, witch? These were a trifle inadequate."

The woman only laughed again. "Oh, I do have one more, pitiful child." She suddenly took out her own dagger and slit her palm before wiping it down the front of the sarcophagus. "With this, the pact is made! Come forth, Sir Dulahan, and smite this whelp of a human – I command you!"

The smear of blood upon the sarcophagus suddenly glowed a malevolent red and the surface exploded into dust. The Dark Elf stepped back, clutching her wounded hand, but smiled blissfully.

Robin stood ready, bringing up her rod when a creature emerged from the pall of dust. It was as tall as the dark mottled ghoul had been, but this creature wore archaic armor, with a heavily worked breastplate and pauldrons of ebon metal and a metal skirt that came to its armored shins. It clinked as it moved, its body only bones beneath, but thicker than any skeleton's should have been, the deep sockets of its skull glowing with points of wicked emerald light.

Besides the clinking of its armor, it made not a sound, having spotted Robin. It moved forward with measured steps, nearly like a march, and Robin sensed profound danger radiating from it. In fact, her mind was struggling to loose from her control. Just setting eyes upon it, Robin wanted to wail, but immediately took hold of such weakness and wrenched it back.

As it moved, the girl saw its armored hands slowly reach up behind it toward twin hilts that protruded from its back. At the edge of the dais, the thing stopped and pulled two wickedly curved blades free with ugly rasps. It then did an incredibly skilled flourish before crossing the blades over its chest as if in salute.

The Black Mage immediately knew that if she got anywhere near this thing she would die. It wasn't just a matter of it being far stronger than her, but the fact that this creature had obviously been a great warrior in life and somehow it had retained those skills as undead.

The Dark Elf moved up, staying to the creature's flank and smiling wickedly. "You have no chance against my wight, human. I suggest you run as far and as fast as you can or this is the end for you."

Robin gripped her staff tightly. "We shall see." She then flung out her hand and a bolt of lightning struck the creature's breastplate – and was absorbed. It did no damage.

The girl's blazing eyes widened, but she merely growled and her runes became blazing orange. As the creature started down the steps of the dais, she flung a roaring fireball at the creature's head. In mid-flight, however, it veered toward the wight's breastplate and seemed to be sucked in, dissipating in a plume of smoke through which the wight advanced, unfazed.

Robin flung another fireball, but it dissipated like the first, and the wight came on, blades poised at its sides.

The Dark Elf laughed as Robin was forced to retreat into the corridor, and she summoned her icy blue runes. The Black Mage sent a whirling wind of freezing ice at the undead and it was quickly frozen to the ground. Yet in a blink, its pin-point eyes blazed and the ice shattered, releasing it. It came on.

Robin retreated further down the corridor, fear trying to take purchase wholly within her now. Never had she fought something that could shrug off all her magic. She quickly tried a cone of flame, but all of it was sucked into the creature's breastplate leaving only a plume of smoke. She tried more freezing winds, and each stopped the wight but a second or so, but did nothing else. She tried more lightning, making the bolts split in as many arcs as she could, but all quickly converged and were swallowed into the armor of the wight. They did nothing.

Robin furiously forced panic from her as she continued to move back. She focused on ice magic, stopping the wight for seconds at a time while she tried to form a plan. The thing could not be indestructible, there had to be a way to destroy it. She just needed time to discover how.

Visibly shaken, Robin took step after step back, when she noticed the demon-carved walls. The stone all around her was a mural of disturbing things. Damned death magic, had she no way to counter it? To corrupt the earth so thoroughly as to give un-life to the dead. How could she fall to such twisted chicanery?

Robin's eyes suddenly widened...

Earth magic.

A sudden wild plan formed in her mind. She had no idea if it would work. That fool Gantz was immune to her lightning, Sana probably to her ice. Would Valor be immune to earth magic, if she had any such power? Robin remembered thinking this way once. Those idiots were an inane burden and were yet potential future obstacles, but perhaps they weren't completely useless after all.

The Black Mage suddenly smiled and summoned a blast of arctic wind, the coldest she could manage. The blast struck the inexorable wight and froze it in place, but quickly the ice began to crack and that is when Robin acted. She sensed the twisted skeins of dark earth magic beneath, corrupting the ground as it had the corpses that had lain within. She felt it and tried to draw it into the purifying fire within her. Immediately, dark shadowy power arose from the very stone beneath her feet and stabbed into her. She growled in pain, but forced herself to endure as the dark earth flowed in. She gnashed her teeth and rage surged through her being –

The wight was upon her, one of its swords poised to cleave her in two. Robin looked up with a defiant growl, her eyes blazing, as runes of solid yellow power suddenly surged to life around her.

The ground cracked at her feet and a loose stone shot up to strike the wight's armored hand. The sword was knocked from it, clattering off a stone wall. Without hesitation, the wight brought its second sword in a thrust but another stone flew up and battered the blade away with tremendous force. A resounding clang sounded, though it was but one of many to follow. Suddenly, a dozen stones shot up, battering at the wight, knocking it this way and that, but mainly pushing it back from the Black Mage.

Robin raised a hand and the stone ground split further, more stones breaking free to fly up and hammer at the undead warrior from all directions. Its breastplate seemed unable to fully absorb their impacts as it had absorbed her other powers. Indeed, the creature was soon struggling to keep its feet. Though it felt neither pain nor fear, it could simply not recover itself from impact after impact.

Soon, they were both moving back into the huge pentagonal chamber, impacts ringing off the wight's armor continuously, until the sound hurt the ears. Robin kept on, however. The thing was incredibly tough and she could not relent. With each step, the ground at her feet split and new stones broke loose and flew into the maelstrom swirling about the wight. With her searing eyes wide, Robin summoned a final burst and two huge chunks of stone broke from the ground and converged on the undead.

With a thunderous crash they collided in an explosion of pulverized dust. From out of the bilious cloud flew a battered skull, which hit the ground rolling until it stopped near Robin's feet.

The dust cleared quickly, and all that was left amidst a pile of stone rubble were the shattered bones and armor of a creature that was fully dead once again.

Robin looked to the cloaked Dark Elf where the woman stood upon the dais, her tattooed face painted in incredulity. "Once again, elf witch, your subordinate was inadequate. Anymore tricks?"

With a horrid screech, the woman brandished her dagger and charged from the dais straight at Robin. The yellow runes still surrounded the Black Mage, however, and a rock the size of a burly man's fist blindsided the elf witch, striking her so hard in the head that she flew aside ten feet, hitting the ground with bone-breaking force. A pool of blood quickly formed around the body. It did not even twitch once.

Suddenly, all the eerie green lights in their places went out, plunging the chamber into darkness. The only light that remained were the Back Mage's blazing eyes combined with the solid yellow runes that wreathed her.

"I didn't think so," Robin said with a sneer, and turned back down the corridor.


	21. A Crack Like Thunder

**A Crack Like Thunder**

They flowed in, all in black like Gantz knew he should have been. Black masks covered their faces, their razor-sharp scimitars gleaming in the torchlit dungeon corridor.

Praying to the gods that the three fools behind him knew what they were doing, Gantz ducked two lightning fast slices before he struck back, his borrowed knives cutting through thick cloth to tear at tendons and muscle.

The thief stayed low, working on legs and thighs, slicing tendons, parrying overhead slashes, ducking, dodging and kicking off the narrow walls now and then to grant him momentum for a flip or speedy roll.

He had no armor, practically naked. His speed and his black iron knives were his only defense now. As much as he was moving around, he still managed to keep his assailants from getting passed him. Gantz had long ago learned how to fight in tight spaces. It took a high level of coordination and precision, but since such were his hallmarks, he knew he could handle it. His knives being shorter and faster than any sword gave him another advantage as well.

The city guards were making little noise, but the Dark Elf attackers made absolutely none. It seemed as if Gantz wasn't even fighting living things. The blood on his knives told him otherwise, however.

Stab, parry, duck and roll, sideslip, duck and whirl, slice, stab, parry and counter. All motions became one as sweat started down the boy's brow. He was cut in a dozen places, and minor pains and aches soon began to gnaw at his stamina. That he was in excellent shape was apparent, but in such a battle, the stress of constant movement worked on the mind and body both.

How many had he killed? He did not know as he stabbed a final assassin through the short-ribs. The masked elf gave no cry or grunt, but shuddered in silent throes as the boy twisted the blade and then pulled it out in a gush of warm blood. The dead attacker fell upon the pile of his predecessors, and Gantz stood, panting. He took a swallow to force down the bile. His throat was dry and his wounds burned. He bled from numerous cuts about his chest, arms and legs.

No more assassins came, and Gantz turned. Captain Marcus stood looking bewildered, a thin slash down his face, his gold helmet missing. His gold enameled breastplate was scratched in multiple places, the bare steel showing beneath. One of the other guards was slumped against the wall with a scimitar rammed through his throat. The other guard, the one who had given Gantz the knives, leaned against the captain, an ugly slash down one leg, soaking the side of his breeches in blood.

Gantz growled. "Do you believe me now, Captain?"

Marcus gave a weary nod. "They must be coming up through the waterworks beneath the dungeons. I do not understand how such foreign creatures could have learned of those passages. Barely any citizen of the White City themselves should know they exist."

Gantz gave a grunt, trying to sheath his knives before he forgot he didn't have any sheathes. He got angry at himself all over again. "Smells like a bloody traitor to me."

The captain clenched his jaw. "Yes, that would make sense."

The thief gave a deep sigh then looked back down the corridor. "I have to go. There are more of them in the castle most likely." He paused to look at the black iron knives in his hand. Already they were cracked, and the edges were chipped badly. These things had not been made for this kind of abuse. He needed his own weapons. He needed fine steel. "I have to get to my gear."

The captain agreed. "It is hard to believe you made it through this without armor, boy. It is apparent that I have underestimated you greatly."

The thief gave a huff. "Well, that's the most decent thing I've ever heard a bloody noble say about me. Anyway, sorry about your man there." He pointed a knife at the dead guard.

Marcus looked down heavily. "Egrad was a good and loyal guard, 'tis true. His wife will be devastated."

Gantz gritted his teeth. "Don't worry, these bloody pointy-eared bastards aren't getting away with this."

Marcus nodded. "Right. You go, Light Warrior, do what you must. I will see after Griffin here, and then go to rally what is left of the Guard. I just pray to the gods that the palace isn't overrun. Regardless, good luck to you, boy, and may the Crystals protect you."

Gantz barked a mirthless laugh. "They bloody well better considering the midden they've got me into." Then he turned and leapt over the pile of corpses and was running down the dungeon corridor.

As he moved, Gantz had one priority now. He was to get back to his apartments and get his gear. Once he had that, every blasted pointy-ear in the castle would be at his mercy. He swore as much.

Moving with all speed, whipping by torches fast enough to put several out, he quickly came to the heavy iron-bound wooden door. The corpses of several jailers lay beside it, and Gantz shook his head and moved passed them all. He came into a circular landing where a spiral of stone stairs wound up and down. Without hesitation, he moved up, taking stairs two at a time, his knives poised just in case he came upon anymore foes.

Maybe five minutes passed before he came up into a small office of dank stone. It was empty but for a wooden desk and cabinet to one side, both filled with bundles of old scrolls. A small arched wooden door across the way was open just a crack and Gantz crept up to it. He peeked through the slit and saw into one of the huge white stone corridors that made up the halls of the main part of Castle Cornelia. Many mirrored stand-lamps provided a great deal of light in the corridor and Gantz had to squint until his dark eyes adjusted to the abundance.

He gazed out as much as he could without disturbing the door and didn't see any black-clad elves anywhere. He did spot the bodies of white-and-blue liveried servants that littered the marble floors. They lay in pools of blood, a half-dozen gold-armored guards among them.

Opening the door just enough to slip through, Gantz went on catspaws up the corridor. In his fool-headed jaunt earlier he had gotten the layout of the corridors down fairly well and knew roughly where he was from the guest apartments. His appraising eye was forgotten as he moved, and he failed to appreciate the niches in the walls harboring fine jade statues or suits of bejeweled armor stood upright. He passed friezes in the walls inlaid with a plethora of precious gems, and cornices gilded so heavily it seemed they might be solid gold.

Yes, all these he passed with only a cursory sweep of his dark gaze. Besides, he didn't believe the Dark Elves were here for loot. He felt it was more personal than that since they had bothered to send so many after him down in the dungeon where there was nothing of value. No, these pointy-eared bastards weren't after plunder, they were after blood. Gantz's many cuts and slashes attested to that.

Fine, blood for blood then, and Gantz stopped as he came to a cross-corridor. He crouched low and bent to look both ways down the broad hallway. Sure enough, a small patrol of lean black-clad figures was heading away from him down the right-side passage. He had been lucky. He waited until the patrol passed around a distant corner, then ghosted across. He moved utterly silent for some time, managing to avoid another few patrols when he turned the corner that would lead him to the guest apartment's wing.

Eyes and ears poised for any hint of something approaching, Gantz suddenly rolled to the side as a blade slashed through where he had just stood. The thief gained his feet and looked all around, but saw nothing. The strange stirrings in the air had just saved his life again, and he was feeling them urgently now, though his other senses had failed to catch wind of the attack.

"Show yourself, you bloody bastard!" Gantz spat, and a dark laugh sounded throughout the corridor, yet seemed to have no single point of origin.

"And why should I do that, human? Would you give up such a wonderful advantage?"

Gantz grimaced. No, he damn sure wouldn't have. So this elf was somehow invisible was she?

Gantz quickly leapt forward in a roll, looking back to see another blade slice the air where he had stood.

"You have some very sharp senses for a primitive human."

The boy growled. "I have some very sharp knives too. I'd like to introduce you to them."

"I think not, worm. Now stay still for me."

Gantz quickly back-flipped as twin scimitars slashed through the air where he'd just knelt. He then rolled to one side as the blades came again, but moved a tad too slow as one scimitar cut an angry red line down his right shoulder-blade.

The black-haired boy cringed at the new wound in his shoulder, but managed another back-flip.

The voice came again. "Fine, human, be stubborn, but you are only delaying the inevitable. Eventually, a patrol of my people will come upon you and you will be trapped between us."

Gantz had already considered such a thing. Bloody magic, why couldn't he use it too? Of course, he still had a smoke bomb left in his clothes, if he hadn't been so blasted dim running about naked earlier.

The boy flipped, rolled and dodged several more times, being pushed back from where he wanted to go. No matter how sharp his senses, though, he couldn't pinpoint the location of the invisible assassin. The stirrings in the air, it seemed, were only defensive in nature, and so he lashed out with his knives many times, but earned nothing for it but contemptuous laughter from his invisible opponent.

A patrol rounded a corner soon after, right near Gantz's flank, and he dodged another attack from the invisible assassin before the five-man patrol charged him.

For the second time in his life, Gantz was actually truly worried, but readied to meet the rush nonetheless – before a crack like thunder sounded throughout the corridor.

Then a large bird of prey suddenly swooped down with a shrieking cry from the high-arched ceiling overhead, raking its talons through the Dark Elf patrol. With an eight-foot wing-span, and large wicked talons, the creature did plenty of damage. Again, none of the masked elves made sounds of pain, but two were slashed terribly and the rest scattered before the bird swooped off again.

Another thunderous whip-crack sounded and suddenly two huge timber wolves rounded a corner, followed by long loping panther. The Dark Elves turned to meet them, but the animals split and pounced from different directions. Incredibly fast, strong and savage, they did considerable damage before breaking away to circle, each of the them growling ferociously.

Gantz had no idea what was going on, turning just to see a wicked scimitar flash into existence in an overhead slice. In a blink, he brought up his left hand, catching the scimitar's steel in a crack of his iron knife. The Dark Elf then became fully visible, a curvaceous figure all in black, her long dark hair bound behind a featureless black mask that covered her face, except for sea green eyes that blazed with hatred at the thief.

Gantz narrowed his dark gaze at her. "You can't overpower me."

The woman's eyes flashed. "Oh, I do not have to, you human slime. I only need overpower your weapon. What kind of deadman uses shoddy iron these days?"

Gantz gave her a nasty grin. "I thought I'd give you poor dupes a chance." His grin faded quickly, however, when the Dark Elf forced more pressure on her sword, and his iron knife shattered.

The scimitar slashed down to cut shallowly into Gant'z face, just over his left eye, but went no further. It took the boy a bit to realize that the Dark Elf's hand had been restrained.

He quickly backed away, wiping blood from his stinging face. The animals that had saved his behind earlier had managed to finish off the patrol and now sat looking at him, one of the wolves yawning deeply.

Gantz looked back to see another figure in the hall. It was a woman apparently, with a slender figure in an outfit of mixed hides, her long legs covered in knee-high boots of animal fur. She wore a mantle of what seemed bear hide as a sort of cloak about her torso, and her upper face was covered by a strange leather cowl that was topped by curled ram's horns. Her aqua eyes shone fiercely through the eye holes, but they weren't what surprised Gantz the most. No, out of all this, it was the slits in the sides of her headdress from which two pointed ears protruded.

This strange hide-bound woman held a long woven leather whip, with wicked barbs of razor-sharp metal embedded into its frayed end. That end was wrapped about the Dark Elf assassin's arm, cutting into her flesh.

The Dark Elf hissed, her green eyes stabbing toward the fierce blue gaze of the other woman. They both struggled for only seconds before Gantz nodded. He tossed his remaining iron knife about so that he held it by the blade, then with all his might, threw the weapon at the assassin. The knife flew with tremendous precision and force, striking the Dark Elf in the throat. With only a single strangled gurgle, the woman fell to her back, quickly drowning in her own blood.

Afterward, Gantz slumped to one knee, suddenly dizzy with pain. He did manage to look over, seeing the fur-bound woman flick her wrist and loosen the end of her whip about the dead Dark Elf. Then, with a graceful sweep of her arm, she brought the whip around, wrapping it about her upper body like a coiled serpent, the handle hanging down over one shoulder.

Gantz watched her walk up to him, swaying with an inhuman grace. "You're another bloody elf aren't you?"

The woman stopped, quickly folding her arms. "Well, that's about what I expected from a human. An accusatory tone after I had just saved your life." She paused to put her hands upon her headdress, taking it by the ram's horns and lifting it free to reveal an oval face of ivory skin, and an aquiline nose. Her large bluish eyes closed as she tossed her head, loosing a long cascade of rich green hair that tumbled down one shoulder. "But yes, you are right, human. I am an elf, an Elf of Light."

With a weary sigh, Gantz forced himself to his feet. Sure she was gorgeous, but damn was he sick of elves at the moment. "Oh happy wonder, a Light Elf. Well, that explains a whole lot. Oh, and just so you don't think I'm a total ingrate, I'll give you a nice shiny Gil once I get my gear." He started passed her down the corridor toward the apartments, wincing with each step.

One of the big timber wolves, however, came up to block his path, suddenly growling at him with fangs bared. The panther stalked up as well before stretching its very sharp claws and leaving runnels in the white stone floor.

Gantz stopped and turned toward the woman. "Okay, I understand you want something. What is it, I have a lot to do and that wasn't the only Dark Elf patrol in this bloody palace."

"Don't worry about my dark kin, human. I have Sky keeping lookout, and her eyesight is unmatched."

Gantz nodded irately. Sky must be the bird. "Yes, _and..._?"

The elf replaced her headdress. "And I have a salve that can help close up your wounds in seconds. Of course, you'll have to grant me a proper 'thank you' before I would consider giving it to you."

The very idea made Gantz rebel, but he checked himself quickly. She had indeed saved his sorry butt at a time when he really had needed saving. That he had put himself in such a position in the first place made it all the more worse. So, swallowing his pride in a particularly hard lump, the thief nodded. "Yes, I guess you did save my hide. Thank you, Miss... Beast Master... or whatever. Can I go now?"

Her blue eyes suddenly narrowed dangerously, and the animals flanking them growled. "That's Beast _Mistress _to you, human."

He held up his hands, quickly. "Okay, fine. Damn, you don't have to be so touchy about it."

The woman frowned, hardly satisfied, but suddenly tossed him a tiny leather tube. "That salve is called Panacea, and will heal the cuts and bruises of your body in very little time."

He nodded. "Right... well, thanks again. See you around."

The woman shook her head, continuing to follow at his flank. "Oh, I am not leaving you yet, human. I believe you may be the one I'm looking for. You are a thief, correct?"

He glared at her over his shoulder. "That's _Master_ Thief, little miss elf. Emphasis on Master."

The woman suddenly laughed. "Ah, I see. I've touched upon a nerve, it seems."

"Yeah, yeah, anyway, why are you looking for me? Oh wait, I know, its because I'm the bloody Chosen of the bloody Wind, am I right?"

She looked at him through her eyeholes. "It seems you are a tad bitter about your chosen role."

He laughed mirthlessly. "Bitter? I'm downright tart about it. Hellfire, I was hoping it'd turn out to be kind of fun, but that ain't been the case so bloody far." He winced at a twinge of pain in his shoulder.

"Fun? You were hoping that being at the forefront of the Dark War would be fun?"

He sighed, still focused ahead. "Yeah, well, I never said I was real smart." He suddenly stopped before a certain dark paneled door. "Okay, this is me. Wait out here if you have to, but I'm going in and getting my stuff. Afterward, I am going to make those Dark Elf bastards very unhappy."

The woman's eyes suddenly shone ferociously. "Oh, I will be only too happy to join you."


	22. Rumble in the Hall

**Rumble in the Hall**

Gantz came out of his guest chamber fully clothed once again. Head to toe in black, he gave a sigh of relief. As he strode out wrapping the black scarf over his dark hair and knotting it out the back, he found the hooded Beast Mistress tapping her foot impatiently. Her animals flanked her, one of the wolves and the panther seeming to share her impatience, while the other wolf was playfully rolling about on the floor.

She said nothing, however, as he exited, her aquamarine eyes simply taking him in in his full battle attire.

Gantz put his hands on the handles of his true knives in their sheathes, one over each hip. "You know, little miss elf, I'm surprised you didn't say anything about me running around naked."

The elf woman gave a slight shrug. "You are human, I expect humans to do all sorts of foolish things."

He frowned. "Yeah, well, you're definitely an elf. You're snobby as any human noble, thats for sure."

The woman frowned back. "How did the panacea work?"

Gantz worked one of his shoulders. "Like a bloody charm."

She nodded. "Fine. If you are done blathering pointlessly, can we get on with this?"

He grunted. "I like blathering pointlessly. Its better than awkward silence any day."

She narrowed her bluish eyes at him through the eyeholes in her strange headdress. "And you feel awkward with me, do you?"

He just rolled his eyes and started walking. The elf followed him and the animals followed her. He shrugged, finally answering. "I guess you could say that, since every other bloody elf I've met so far has tried to kill me."

She shook her head. "Well, I do hope that you can wrap your quaint human mind around the fact that there are two different kinds of elves in this world, and we are most certainly enemies."

He gave her an off-hand glance. "Sure thing, little miss elf."

The woman growled as she strode up to his side. "I would prefer if you didn't call me that."

"_Oh Really?_ Then maybe you ought to be all friendly-like and tell me your name."

She gave him a scathing sideways glance at his sarcastic tone to which he replied with an insolent grin. "Fine, human, my name is Selena of the Glade. My companions are Sky, the eagle, Rumor, the panther, and Palom and Parom, the pair of wolves."

Gantz felt strange greeting animals, but nodded at each of those that were present. The eagle was still absent, but Gantz nodded toward the large sleek panther, moving at his mistress's side. The creature did not seem to notice. Gantz just shrugged and looked down at the wolves. Both were big gray timber wolves, and they flanked him. The one to his left looked up at him, and gave a seemingly polite bow of its head. The one to his right gazed up at him with its tongue lolling out, like this was all sorts of fun.

Still a little uncomfortable being surrounded by these predators – especially after he had seen them work – he looked back at Selena. "Okay, well, fair is fair. I'm Gantz, the greatest thief in all Creation. I suppose I'm also the Chosen of the Crystal of the Wind, if you wanna be really formal."

The woman sighed. "Well, I am certainly in awe of your humility, Sir Gantz."

He grinned toothily. "Humility never got me anywhere, especially in my line of work. And you can go ahead and drop that 'Sir' crap, Selena of the Glade. I ain't made for it."

The elf shook her head. "This must be what the Archdruid said when she mentioned a great trial. I had thought it would be the battle against Fallen, but I see now that it will be putting up with you."

Gantz had to laugh. "Well, I aim to please."

The woman herself only grimaced. "Well, if you wish to please me now, we had best find where the Dark Elves have gone and fast."

The thief nodded. "I'm heading that way now. I've got a gut feeling that we need to get to the Great Hall as fast as we can." And he suddenly burst into a swift run.

He wasn't too surprised to see the woman keeping up with him, her animals loping by their sides. Gantz just nodded to himself and narrowed his eyes. A big fight was coming, he could feel it.

**IIIIIIIIII**

It looked truly painful... the transformation...

Valor gave an involuntary shudder as he watched in shock the horrid metamorphosis.

The Lord Sumpter Baigan huddled in on himself in anticipation, before a sudden roar of agony bellowed up out of him and his spine arched, his arms twisting and deforming, his uniform tearing at the sudden massive expansion of muscles gone beyond his control.

The roar deepened and twisted to a shriek, then back to a guttural rumbling like nothing human, switching back and forth in pitch and tone as the man himself grew slowly in a mass of writhing convulsions that caused him to bulge beyond his human dimensions. His uniform was soon completely torn away, his lower body then covered by a thick coarse hair, spines of darkened bone protruding from his ever thickening arms. The horrid crunching of bones breaking and reforming added to the grotesque mix until something emerged from the congealed whole. Four huge arms sprouted from a thick elongated torso, each ending in a massive fleshy spiked club, much like a giant mace. The thing arose on two hind-legs set atop mighty cloven hooves, nearly thirty feet tall, its wickedly horned head upon a neck so thick with bulging muscle that it seemed disproportionately small to the mighty body. Then the thing's flesh stopped convulsing, finally settling into thick ropes of corded muscle all about, undoubtedly granting it incomparable strength.

As it arose in its final form, the thing suddenly opened burning red eyes...

No one in the vast Great Hall had moved during the transformation, too stunned in shock and horror as the mighty demon suddenly reared back and gave a shuddering guttural roar that reverberated off the high arched ceiling of the vast chamber.

Being the closest to it, Valor had had to look up as the thing had grown. His utter shock could not be dispelled, including a healthy terror that had infected him. It was an unholy spell that gripped his mind in a vice. He wanted to run. With all his might he wanted this, but could not bring himself to go anywhere nor even look away as the thing towered over him, emitting its blasphemous wail.

Yet there was a seed within him that fought this hold. Then a voice within his very soul...

_The Crystal cannot grant you courage you do not already possess, Chosen One. Remember, however, that the strength of the whole of the earth is within you. Remember that you are a Warrior of Light..._

A female voice that sounded nearly like his mother's. Indeed, Aria Loftlan was not far behind him, along with nobles of the Great and Minor Houses. Sana Lynn was here too, everyone of them in the path of this great dark monster that wreaked of brimstone and vilest evil.

Only he stood between it and them...

Only he...

A sudden strength seemed to flow up from the ground beneath Valor's feet, and a sense of resolve as solid as granite overcame him, steeling his spine and quashing the terror in his mind that the monster emitted.

Valor took no backward step, but looked down as something clattered heavily at his feet. It was a monstrous two-handed battleaxe, the one his father had kept in the armory as a prize from the time when his Order had slain a particularly huge rampaging ogre in the pocket provinces. Valor's father had kept it, but had never trained with it, of course. It took three men to lift the thing just high enough to carry around. No human being would ever be strong enough to use it in actual battle.

Valor glanced behind him. His mother stood with five of the burly horse-handlers from their estate. Valor recognized them all. Of course, the handlers' eyes were uneasy, all glancing at the monster before them. Aria Loftlan's gaze, however, held no fear, looking at the monster beyond Valor with only undisguised contempt.

The boy's brow knit and he nodded once, taking up the greataxe from the ground. He heard gasps from the horse-handlers, though they now looked at him, not the monster.

The young warrior looked back at the demon above him, hefting the mighty axe like it was nothing. The demon grinned wickedly down at him, its eyes burning as it brandished its bulbous mace-like hands.

Valor glanced quickly over his shoulder. "All of you back!" He then turned, his sapphire eyes hard as he sized up his foe. This would be no easy fight.

His grip tightened on the wooden hilt of the greataxe and his jaw clenched. "Now we dance, monster."

**IIIIIIIIII**

Sana-Lynn could not help but tremble at the sheer immensity of the demon, quivering at its sudden unholy roar, which filled the Great Hall. What in the realm was Valor doing? He had to get away from that thing, it would crush him! Then she gasped again when Aria Loftlan's servants dropped the mighty axe at his feet, their burden obvious and cumbersome, yet Valor picked it up as it if weighed little.

_Blessings of the Earth..._

True spoke up beside her. "I had never imagined Baigan would abase himself this far. The man's ambition and foolishness were beyond even my imaginings."

A sudden inviolate disgust quickly swept away Sana's fear and her hazel eyes narrowed, the Holy humming within her. "He wreaks of evil, his soul swallowed by it!"

The rancor in her words surprised True, but he unsheathed his rapier with a faint rasp. "We have our own foes to deal with first, Sana-Lynn, then we aid Valor. He will have to watch himself for now."

That much was true. With a righteous anger suddenly burning within her, Sana spoke the words beneath her breath and the crook of her white staff suddenly glowed. "Ready yourself, True, I am casting."

With their master's transformation complete, the dozen dark-clad figures at the doors suddenly launched toward the duo, having guessed correctly that they were greatest threat in the Hall. True held his rapier ready in one white-gloved hand, settling his red feathered hat securely with the other.

The black-clad figures moved with inhuman speed, yet Sana took a step forward to meet them, her staff raised above her head. It suddenly flared with radiant white light.

Each black-clad figure suddenly stopped in their tracks, dropping their twin swords, hands to their faces as they seemed to writhe in pain. Yet they emitted no sounds despite their apparent agony.

As soon as the light died, True flowed in with his razor-sharp rapier, his scarlet cape fluttering behind as he executed precise strikes with his blade. He thrust the first Dark Elf through the heart. The creature convulsed once before collapsing, and True moved again, slashing others across the throat, then pivoting to thrust one through the eye. Immobilized by their pain, the Dark Elf assassins were unable to fight back, and eleven died to True Herring's rapier. The last, however, managed to shake off the effects with just enough time to flip back out of striking range. It moved with incredible speed, landing on its feet.

Knowing he had lost his advantage, True readied for the rush, but the Dark Elf was passed him before he could even acknowledge its movement – passed him and heading right for Sana Lynn; ready to skewer her with its wicked scimitar before she could even respond.

Having not wanted to do this, True dropped all pretenses and muttered the spell under his breath. He held out his free hand as electric blue runes circled his wrist. In an eye-blink, a crackling surge of lightning shot from his free hand, striking the Dark Elf in the back and burning a gaping hole in its torso. With its momentum, the body struck the floor, sliding up to stop at Sana's feet. Stunned by the creature's inhuman speed, the girl gaped at its corpse, smelling the char of its singed flesh.

Somehow she managed a glance up at True. "T-That was black magic!"

True gave a precise nod as he came up to her. "Indeed it was, my vision, indeed it was."

Yet they had no time for further conversation. The rumble in the Hall had begun in earnest.

**IIIIIIIIII**

The Headmaster of the Order of the White Staff, Dalton Samar, knelt over the Lord Oster Arlington, as the knight shuddered in pain, the crossbow bolt still lodged in his shoulder. It was wickedly barbed and could not be removed easily. However, that was not the worst of it. A quick magical diagnosis revealed that the head of the bolt had been dipped in the deadliest of poisons, Demon's Blood. Of course, from the unholy transformation, Dalton now knew where Baigan had gained such a poison.

The old White Mage gritted his teeth. It would take all his power and concentration to counter such a poison, and Dalton would not be able to aid the youths as they fought the fiend in the Hall.

It was all up them now. That was what fate had decreed.


	23. A Different Dance

**A Different Dance**

The stench of brimstone wafted from the monstrous fiend that towered over Valor.

Then suddenly, one of its huge mace-like hands slammed down. Valor dodged, though the shockwave from that spiked fist hitting the ground still knocked him back a few steps.

He had no time to recover. Two more blows thundered down, and the Light Warrior planted his feet and gripped the thick haft of his mighty greataxe, managing to parry the blows, turning them aside with roars of exertion.

The demon shrieked with frustration, continuing to rein down blow after blow with its four bulbous spiked fists. The ones Valor dodged struck the mosaic floor tiles, shattering them, others smashing the long fine dinner tables to kindling, throwing food everywhere. All the other spectators in the Great Hall murmured or cried out in fear, pressing themselves against the walls as far from the demonic fiend as they could get.

After only several minutes, Valor was already sweating, his arms sore from the constant jarring of turning aside the monstrous strikes. Honestly, he wasn't certain how the haft of his axe continued to hold together. Thick as it was, this kind of beating should have splintered it already. But it held, and so did he. Still, the monster that had been Sumpter Baigan was relentless, bellowing and shrieking as it attacked, its fists causing thunder when they missed, harrying Valor even more than the ones he parried. He was locked on the defensive without a single chance to strike his own blows.

Scrapes and bruises accompanied Valor's soreness, though sudden ribbons of greenish-white light suddenly entwined about him. A pleasant smell, like that of freshly cut mint, wafted to him with the mellow lights and he breathed it in. His soreness eased, his fatigue lessened. And he bellowed out a tremendous roar of his own as he knocked away another of the monster's blows before twisting the mighty axe in his hands and slicing a horrendous slash deep into one of the demon's fists.

The creature reared back and roared in pain and Valor took that as an invitation to press the advantage. He ran up and hacked a deep gash in one of the monster's thick fore-legs. A spray of brackish black blood spattered across his dress uniform. Again, he felt naked without his armor, but there was no time for such foolish pangs, he had to stay focused. Besides, he knew he wasn't fighting alone now.

**IIIIIIIIII**

Sana-Lynn still could not believe how any human could possibly be strong enough to turn aside blows from that huge towering fiend, but quickly shook her head. Her Cure spell had been a simple one, her mind still fighting off the terror that the monster emitted like a cloud of poison. Its dark aura filled the Great Hall like a miasma of evil, an invisible presence with substantial weight...

_The ocean does not bow... it flows. It does not succumb... it dissolves. It cannot be broken... it is the breaker._

The girl's hazel eyes narrowed. The very sight of the monster filled her with affront. It was an insult to all life! She took another step forward, speaking beneath her breath. Another Cure spell twirled about Valor where he fought with all his might to batter at the disgusting fiend as it battered at him. The crook of Sana's staff glowed as she wove it before her almost as if in slow ritual dance, motes of radiance about her, her blond hair flying free of their bejeweled nets, lifted on the lights of her conjuring.

Beside her in awe, True shook away his own fear, nodding to himself as he pulled the rim of his red hat down. He knew he couldn't get anywhere near the fight between Valor and fiend without being crushed to a pulp, so he sheathed his rapier and held out one white-gloved hand. Under his breath, icy blue runes encircled his wrist and several fist-sized shards of freezing ice coalesced about his outstretched arm. He could feel the cold from his own magic, before he willed the ice forward, and the frosty shards struck out like arrows shot from a bow. They flew unerringly at the huge fiend whose attention was diverted...

Yet it mattered not. Even without its direct attention, the creature's molten eyes flared, and the small shards of ice melted to simply splash against the monster harmlessly.

True clenched a white-gloved fist, not bothering to contain an oath. "I cannot believe it!"

"You call _that_ an Ice spell?" came a mocking voice from behind. True whirled to see a short black-robed figure moving up to his side. The figure's pointed, wide-brimmed hat marked her nearly as much as her concealed face, only her glowing eyes visible. She was limping slightly, clearly in pain. "Back, you clumsy fool, this is not your fight, nor have you the power to aid in it."

True Herring frowned, but gave a slight bow and backed away. "Of course, Lady Magus." The Black Mage gave no acknowledgement to his acquiescence, instead giving a glare at Sana-Lynn as the other stood entranced, utterly focused on aiding Valor where he fought.

It galled him to admit his impotency in this matter, but True backed away for the Light Warriors.

**IIIIIIIIIII**

Robin Magus growled. The sickness inside her was getting worse. One of her potions had alleviated the pain a bit, but had not rid her of it entirely, and it had come on, making her wince with every step. It was from that damn ghoul licking her, she was sure. Still, she had kept on through force of will, and stood here now taking in the situation. Yes, the insolent fighter, Valor, was keeping the monster at bay and forcing it to focus on him. Their clashes where titanic, the sounds of their battle rumbling throughout the Hall. The fiend was wounded, but it remained undaunted. It was also clear that whatever the idiotic White Mage was doing was keeping Valor on his feet despite the pounding he was taking. Obviously, however, a stalemate had been reached.

More offensive measures were needed.

Robin nodded, her eyes glowing furiously. The girl planted her feet shoulder-width apart and held her charred black rod before her horizontally. "Watch me now, you red fop. This is how you summon the power of ice..."

Frosty blue runes suddenly flared about her like a mantle and freezing cold filled the space around her to the point that flakes of snow swirled in the air. "This... is the Blizzard."

Lines of frosty blue power came together to solidify into several shards of ice as big as True Herring himself, then suddenly blasted toward the monster. They tumbled end over end, hurtling at the fiend. Valor saw them coming and leapt back just as the creature turned its head, its glowing eyes widening in surprise.

Three huge shards struck the monster with such force that they knocked it off its hooves. It crashed back, crushing several tables that had yet to be molested, tossing debris every which way. Amidst a pile of shattered ice and splintered wood, the monster managed one hoof, shaking its head, but the icy spell was not finished. Robin continued to work, and soon the monster found the air about it growing chill as ice formed on its body, trying to impede it. The fiend bellowed in outrage and locked its glowing red gaze with Robin's eldritch one.

Now the battle became mental, both forces trying to gain on the other. The demon summoned a haze of heat to melt the ice, causing thick hissing steam to billow around it, even as the air continued to cool and freeze.

Despite her growing sickness, Robin locked her eyes on the fiend's, putting all her will into sheathing the monster in ice.

Sana-Lynn suddenly turned toward her, concern on her face. "Robin, you are poisoned!"

The Black Mage snarled: "Shut your mouth, lesser mage, I am concentrating!" Yet, the pain caused her to lurch, and the demon smiled, roaring as it broke through the ice. The Black Mage was suddenly knocked back, as if she had taken a physical blow.

In full fury, the monster stood, howling terribly, until everyone in the Great Hall was forced to cover their ears. It looked about, suddenly focusing on Sana-Lynn and took a lurching step before Valor moved to intercept.

Yet before the fighter had even gone two steps, someone else entered the Great Hall. "Outta the way, you slow sons of bastards!"

With a generous leap over the mages' heads, Gantz came down, little more than a blur to everyone watching, and darted toward the fiend, a wicked smile on his face. He ran low, hands out at his sides, his long knives clenched in his fists. He looked up to see the monster snarl at him before its giant fists began to rain down. The thief started to weave, duck, slide, twist and leap, and none of the blows hit nor even fazed him before he was running up one of the demon's arms to stab the creature through one of its red glaring eyes. He then jumped far back in a long twisting leap before landing near the others.

The monster writhed and twisted in pain, its arms flailing wildly as black blood spurted from its ruined eye. It bellowed and shrieked and screamed.

The Master Thief's smile vanished as he saw the creature go into a frenzy. He was certain that his vicious stab would have killed it. It should have killed it.

But the fiend was far from killed. With no one in range it just started attacking everything near it, charging wildly and forcing people to run shrieking as it barreled into walls, pummeling the worked stone murals with furious blows that shattered the surface.

Aria Loftlan was struck with a shower of stone debris and flung back, two others crushed, as the thing rampaged.

"_Mother_!" Valor cried out in fury. The noblewoman lay unmoving under a plume of dust and debris and the boy's sapphire eyes suddenly glazed with tears.

The fiend was unstoppable now, tearing at everything wildly, crushing all in its path. People screamed and fled toward the open double doors behind the Light Warriors, before the monster turned and charged them.

Yet it did not go unchallenged. Valor found a strange feral bellow rumbling up from the depths of him, and he counter-charged, his furious blue eyes locked on the monstrous gaze of the fiend.

"Valor, no!" Sana yelled, but it was no use. The two of them were hurtling headlong toward each other, both crying havoc at the top of their lungs. Valor ran and suddenly leapt up as the fiend pounded toward him, the two great forces colliding with a thunder that shook the entire keep.

His brown and silver hair flailing, Valor flew through dust and debris, his face bleeding, his body bruised, as he brought his axe around with the might of wrath and slammed it through the monster's head. The fiend's skull exploded and it was flung back bodily to crash against the far wall with enough force to crack its surface.

Soon after, the thing's corpse slumped to the floor amidst ruin and debris, slowly dissolving into flecks of darkness that dissipated in the dust-filled air.


	24. Aftermath

**Aftermath**

Utterly sore, Valor Loftlan knelt in the dissipating dust-clouds that were still dying down.

The young fighter's once pristine dress uniform was now caked with dust and demon blood and rent in many places. Despite the incredible strength and durability granted him by the Crystal of Earth, it was all the boy could do to keep from collapsing on the debris-strewn floor of the now desecrated Great Hall.

Valor kept both his fists about the haft of the giant greataxe he had wielded against the fiend, leaning on it heavily for support. He was dizzy and cringed with all the many aches that the monster's bludgeoning had granted him. He knew easily that no normal human would have stood a chance against such a monster. For that, he silently thanked the Crystals.

Yet again, as before during the battle, sudden ribbons of greenish-white power suddenly manifested to twirl around him, lighting the dusty air with a minty hue and bringing a fresh and pleasant smell.

Weariness lessened and Valor suddenly found the strength to stand. His mental fatigue was also diminished, and his sapphire eyes blinked as he witnessed the dust die down once and for all.

Not more than several yards distant, Sana-Lynn stood with a preponderance of serenity. Disheveled as she was, her pale dress rent, her long golden hair loose from the shattered nets, her pale skin smudged with dust, she seemed to him as some colossal presence of undefinable peace... before she smirked off-handedly.

Valor could only smile back, his weariness still intense despite the White Mage's healing.

The girl clutched her ashen staff in both hands before her. "Are you all right, Valor?"

The boy sighed. "I can honestly say I don't know-" He then suddenly bolted upright despite protestations from his fatigued flesh. He cast about, forgetting Sana for the moment. "Mother!"

The fighter dropped the greataxe to clatter to the floor. An intense fear gripped his mind. "Mother!" he cried again searchingly.

"Worry not, young Valor," Dalton Samar called out in reply, "Your mother yet lives."

Valor turned and saw the old Headmaster supporting his noble mother from one side, while a disheveled Oster Arlington aided her from the other. Together the three trudged up slowly. They then allowed Aria Loftlan to knell before her son, catching her breath with a delicate hand to her chest. Her elaborate white dress was torn and rent Valor could tell, though she had Oster's cloak about her to preserve her modesty. What was absolutely not lost on Valor were her wounds. She was bleeding down her face from a considerable scrape on her brow and the arms and hands that clutched the cloak to her were scarred and bruised.

In outrage, Valor looked at the old Headmaster. "Dalton, why have you not healed her!"

The old priest looked down in shame but did not answer.

Aria did for him, her voice as calm as ever despite her appearance. "I asked him not to, my son."

Valor's outrage switched to her. "And what possible reason could you have for such foolishness!"

His mother smiled sadly again, before lifting up her sky blue eyes. The boy took a horrified step back from the strange blankness of his mother's gaze.

She was blind.

Appalled, Valor shook his head. "Can this not be healed?"

Aria tilted her head to the side. "More than likely it can. White magic can perform miraculous feats, my son. Never forget that. Never take your White Mage and her strength for granted."

Valor didn't understand. Instead, he stood rigid, his solid form quivering in anger. He turned back and waved at Sana-Lynn. "Sana, heal my foolish mother!" He looked down suddenly, feeling shame at such a brusque order. "...please," he added plaintively.

Sana only gave a slight nod, summoning her power. Her loose hair flowed in a wind of conjuring and the crook of her white staff glowed. Yet, even as she began to chant a Cure spell under her breath, confusion marled her smudged face. She lowered her staff, the light fading.

Sana shook her head, looking to Valor. "She is resisting... with considerable force."

Valor snarled with incredulity. "Mother, what is the meaning of this?"

The woman's head lowered again. "That explanation is coming, Valor, the culmination of all of this."

The Chosen of Earth just growled in frustration, looking expectantly at Dalton and Oster for answers. Neither of the men would meet his eye.

They knew! They knew what his mother was going on about, yet would say nothing!

"Are the other Chosen whole, my son? Please make certain and gather them." She paused to tilt her head toward Oster. "Please, Lord Arlington, bring your daughter here. She has a part to play in this as well."

Looking leaden and solemn, the red-haired knight nodded silently and went off toward the crushed banquet tables at the other end of the Great Hall. Valor saw that he seemed fine despite a pained limp and stiff right arm. Apparently, Dalton had successfully removed the crossbow quarrel and cured Oster of its poison.

Valor was compelled to fight his mother's command to gather the others until she explained herself. As it was, Robin Magus limped up to the group on her own. The hem of her black robes and the brim of her peaked hat were once again singed and tattered. She said nothing, seemingly in pain.

Sana merely nodded at her, though the other didn't notice with her head lowered. "I am purging you of that dreaded poison, now, Robin Magus," she said decisively.

The Black Mage tried to quip something, but did not have the strength. Instead, Robin simply stood as Sana raised her ashen staff high above her head with one hand, while at the same time, held out the other to point toward the Black Mage. Sana then closed her hazel eyes and the crook of her raised staff glowed again, brighter than before.

Valor watched in amazement as a beam of intertwined ribbons of jade power suddenly sprung from Sana's outstretched hand with a soft hum. The beam slowly twirled toward Robin and entered into her chest. The stream was continuous, its hum growing in strength as it suddenly drew out from Robin an inky blackness that threatened to drench the purifying power in darkness.

Valor knew that must be the poison. It was a nasty magical poison, rife with a bitter dread and it seemed alive as it writhed out like some wild serpent. It stole the light of Sana's beam, yet the girl furled her brow and small tendrils of greenish light wrapped about the sinister serpentine power. The black poison fought with living ferocity yet it slowly succumbed to the White Mage's purification. Instead of dissipating, it was instead converted to another state. It was still considerably darker green than the ribbons of Sana's purifying magic, yet somehow Valor could tell that it was something else.

Suddenly, Robin looked up, her eldritch eyes blaring viciously. Her voice contained a cold rage that Valor had not heard from her before. "You now belong to me..." The Black Mage raised a hand and grabbed the dark green energy serpent. It writhed in her fist, fighting her grasp, but she slowly tightened it until the poisonous snake suddenly dissipated at the same time as a nimbus of virulent green runes surrounded the Black Mage. "I had not thought to use the power of poison before." She gave a dark laugh.

Valor blinked when the lights dissipated, then started when he found Gantz at his side looking thoughtful. "Wow, that was a right pretty light show. Can we get some grub now?"

Irritation at the thief's presence suddenly welled up in Valor, but it easily slid off him under the confusion of his mother's mysterious behavior.

Aria nodded when all was finished. Oster then brought his daughter up to stand next to the noblewoman. At the same time, Valor noticed a score of other nobles forming a curious ring around this little scene. All of them kept a respectful distance, however, merely witnessing.

Then, with surprising poise, Aria Brigada Loftlan stood, lifting her chin. Her eyes were now closed, yet she still radiated the force of presence that Valor was long familiar with. As always, it combined dignity and authority and was unwaveringly elegant. He had witnessed this set of her jaw before as the Duchess Loftlan turned toward Erin Arlington. The girl was as disheveled as everyone else that had witnessed this event. She also had a large bruise growing on her face from where Baigan had slapped her.

Yet there was something different about her from before, Valor noted. She stood rigid with her head lowered, her darkly red bangs covering all but her lower face. Oster stood behind her, seemingly as a bailiff.

Aria faced the girl, a judge in full form, despite her battered appearance. "Erin Hayata Arlington, you are accused of treasonous collusion with the now deceased Count Baigan. You granted him maps of the waterways beneath the White City and Castle Cornelia so that he could bring his foreign allies in secret to depose the king and take the throne for himself. Is this not true?"

Erin gritted her teeth but said nothing. Other nobles of the crowd gasped.

True Herring quickly appeared and stepped up, his face also unusually stern. In his popinjay red garb, Valor had never thought True could bare such a resolute presence. He was disabused of such a notion as the Red Bard came into the center of the group and dropped a handful of maps and other documents on the floor at Erin's feet. True said nothing, merely stepping back from the circle with arms folded.

Even with her sight gone and her eyes closed, Aria gave the impression of a withering stare. "In Baigan's study was a hidden compartment full of other incriminating pieces of evidence. It seems he had recorded your dealings in writing presumably as proof against you if you betrayed him. I have reports of secret conferences between the daughters of some of your retainers and Baigan as well; whether to pass reports or to sate some other condition of your treacherous alliance – or both – is as yet to be determined. Determined it shall be, however."

At that, Gantz folded his arms and whistled.

Shock was a mild word for what went through Valor's mind at hearing all this. He couldn't help an incredulous reply. "Erin... can this be?"

The girl's fists clenched at her sides, but her head came up, her lustrous green eyes teared, and her face contorted in what Valor could only call madness. "What fools you are, all of you! You condemn me for doing what drives the politics of this land, what you and your families have done for ages without end! How dare you put upon your haughty masks and deem to stand so far above me as to make yourselves appear spotless. I spit on you!" She glared up at Aria. "And you, you bitter old witch, you set me up from the beginning! It is all clear as crystal now. You agreed to betroth me to Valor intending something like this all along! Well, do you confess or would you dissemble and lie as you have done all along? There is no plot I have entertained that is anywhere near the tangled web you yourself has put in place. Is that not so?"

Aria did not answer, somehow staring down the girl with her force of presence. This duel between them lasted for sometime until the Erin's head merely dropped again, and she stood quivering before her stern-faced father.

Aria Loftlan then turned to put the girl at her back, and seemingly out of mind. Before she could say anything, however, her lips parted in a silent cry. Oster was immediately fighting with Erin as the girl suddenly shrieked in a mad rage. Even with their great difference in size, Oster had trouble restraining his wild daughter, and a few retainers came up from the ring of nobles and helped to hold the girl in place though she continued to wail and yell, cursing them all.

At the same time as this, Aria fell forward, and Valor roared as he rushed up to her, immediately seeing the dagger sticking from her back.

"Do not remove it," said Dalton, though he made no move to cast a healing spell.

Valor caught his mother in his arms, looking up at the Headmaster with tearing outrage. "Heal her now, you old fool!"

Those words struck the bearded old man like a blow, but he continued to look down, doing nothing.

"By the Gods, damn you! What is wrong with you!" He looked desperately to Sana. "Please, Sana, tell me you can do something."

The girl's hazel eyes held a solemn pain. "I am sorry, Valor, but the Holy will not respond. I don't now why... but I cannot do anything."

"No," Valor whispered.

Aria's bloodied face contorted in pain, but her voice was calm. "You... have done well, my son. You will be a fine pillar for the Four Chosen of Light. A foundation... you shall be to them, to anchor them to the true path. To be thus, however, you needed more than just dedication and training. You needed... power."

Valor cradled his mother, nodding. "Yes, mother, I know, the blessing of the Earth Crystal. Why are you saying all this again? Save your strength, you must rest."

"My rest is at hand, my son. Anyhow, your... blessing was not enough, Valor. It was known long ago that the blessings would need something more. Our indirect aid by itself was not... sufficient."

Confusion and sadness muddled the boy's thoughts. "What... what do you mean?"

"I mean, my son, that I am the Herald..."

Gantz and Sana both gave audible gasps; Robin, a thoughtful nod.

"Herald..? Mother, I do not understand."

Aria gave another plaintive smile. "It is nearly time to shed this flesh, my son. Know now, that you are of two worlds. This was an absolute necessity. We saw it long ago. You are both human and spirit beast, both flesh and light, bound together to become the promised Warrior of Light, a culmination of sacred powers. In order to give that to you, I, Aspect of Gaia, gained a body of flesh and set about my work to counter that which the Fiends set in play with their scheming. You are the fruition, instilled by your father your training and duty, and by me, your holy might. May you use such wisely, my son."

Valor gaped, but his eyes narrowed as realization flooded into him. "Then the whole ruse with Erin was all for this single moment. You wanted her to stab you!"

Aria nodded. "I needed to die here, Valor. You needed to know the truth at this specific time and place. Not before, and certainly not after. Now."

Valor's eyes seemed to search a way through all that was happening. "Did father know of this?"

"He did, yet could not tell you. No one could before this moment. However, I never manipulated him into what he did, my son. I gave him the knowledge... and the choice."

The boy looked down. "So I am half human and half..."

Aria coughed painfully, blood dribbling from her lips. "...I must go now, son..."

Tears leaked from the boy's sapphire eyes, but he steadied his features. He said only: "I will miss you, mother."

"I am never far from you, Valor, never far at all. Though with this act, the Will of the Crystals will be essentially gone from this world, remnants will remain awaiting enlightenment again. The Four Chosen of Dawn must find their way... to each... in turn..." Her head suddenly lulled and she said nothing more.

Valor removed the dagger from her back and lay his mother upon the ground. He then covered her over with the cloak she'd been using and merely knelt with his hands laced over his mouth.

The other three Chosen, Dalton, and True Herring had all been within earshot. No one else in the Great Hall, however, had heard his mother's revelation. Erin had quieted, fully restrained by her father and retainers. The entire Hall was utterly silent.

Sana-Lynn came forward. "Valor," she called tentatively. "What happens now?"

Valor stayed where he was, simply looking up. Sana gazed at him with a gentle sympathy. Gantz frowned down at him, looking bewildered. Robin's shrouded countenance gave away nothing as usual, her eldritch eyes glowing evenly. Still, she seemed to be waiting for what Valor would do, surprising in itself.

They all seemed to be waiting for him.

Still, it was a long time before he moved.


	25. Of Elves and Airships

**Of Elves and Airships**

Sana-Lynn Atha raised her ashen staff, and a sudden radiant burst of pure white light exploded from it, filling the corridor. The last group of shrouded Dark Elf assassins went into silent throes of agony, dropping their scimitar and writhing in pain before the other three Light Warriors finished them off.

The blond girl then lowered her staff, taking in all that had happened before her. She stood in one of Castle Cornelia's many white stone corridors, the high walls lined with rich tapestries with niches here and there where bejeweled suits of armor stood as silent sentries...

But the luxury and opulence was marred by the death that the Dark Elves had wrought on the servants and castle guards. Their bodies lay everywhere, and even though the bodies of their murders now joined them, Sana considered it no consolation at all.

The girl stood now in her robes, covered over by the cloak of the Order of the White Staff, all sturdy white wool but for the red triangles bordered along the hem. As a Priestess of the Order, she bowed her head before the innocent fallen and said a prayer to the spirit gods on their behalf.

Valor Loftlan, now fully armored in his plain half-plate, pulled his bastard sword from the torso of a dead Dark Elf, wiping the blade off on the corpse. He stood and looked at her, his strong face wholly grim as his sapphire gaze pulled away to sweep across the breadth of the fallen.

Gantz was some ways from him. The shorter leaner young man, clad in black, was wiping off his knives before sheathing them at his sides. He seemed uncharacteristically subdued to Sana.

So did Robin. The shrouded Black Mage had said little since Sana had healed her of the ghoul's poison. Robin had displayed a chilly rage after she had acquired the poison's power, adding it to her repertoire of nefarious magic, which Sana still did not trust. Since leaving the Great Hall with what was left of the Guard to scour the rest of the castle of Dark Elves, Robin had said absolutely nothing. She stood now, off from the others, her electric blue runes glowing about her like a storm. Her black robes and the rim of her peaked hat were tattered and singed again. What lone trial had she undergone to acquire that damage?

Gantz suddenly kicked at Dark Elf corpse before going up to Valor and folding his arms angrily. "I gotta say it, blue blood. We let our guards down and these people paid for it."

Sana-Lynn came closer to the two of them, but did not speak. The glare Valor gave the thief was hard and terrifying, but Gantz stood his ground, glaring back. Valor had a good half-foot of height on the thief, but Gantz just folded his arms stubbornly. They were quite a contrast, Sana realized. The thief was lean as a wolf, darkly complected, with tilted brown eyes and hawkish features. He wore dark leather armor over black clothing. Valor was tall and fair, powerfully built and armored in plate. His once brown hair was streaked with more silver highlights than ever, almost to the point that it was more white than brown.

Yet Valor gave a step back, and a sudden exhaustion overcame him. To Gantz obvious surprise, he collapsed to one knee, and let out a sigh that rumbled through the hall like an avalanche. "You are right, thief, more right than I would ever want to admit, but right nonetheless. We are the Chosen and we had not realized that to the capacity that we should have, and it has cost us... and the people we were supposed to protect. The kingdom is weaker than ever." He pounded an armored fist into the floor so hard that it cracked.

Suddenly, Sana got an almost overwhelming impression of despair that filled the corridor. The Veil of Darkness was working on her companions through their feelings of failure. She shook her head and took a step forward. "We are the light of this world. We are its hope. As long as we still stand, there is hope still. So... please, Valor... you must stand."

He looked up at her, his lost gaze suddenly solidifying. He nodded sharply, and stood. "This will never happen again. Until the Crystals light the world once more, I will be nothing but vigilant. My parents gave their lives to bequeath me this duty. Vigilance is what I must be now. Thank you, Sana-Lynn."

She gave a small smile and nod before Guard-Captain Marcus rounded the corridor and came down, flanked by half-a-dozen subordinates. He had a decidedly angry look on his face, but not for the Light Warriors. No, Sana knew it was for the vile treachery of Sumpter Baigan. The captain removed his gold helm and bowed before Valor with fist to chest. "Lord Loftlan, we have found the king. He was apparently arrested in his room by the Dark Elves. He still lives, but is very weak. They gave him some kind of slow-acting poison, though the Headmaster of the White Staff has purged him of it. Also, there is an elf in the king's sitting chamber who claims she had come to the aid of the king. I wanted to detain her, but the king ordered me to leave her be."

"Another elf?" Valor said incredulously.

Gantz stepped in. "Does she wear furs and have a bunch of dangerous animals with her?"

Marcus looked at him. "Yes, that is her, Master Gantz. Do you know of her?"

Gantz frowned at the title. "More than I'd like, unfortunately. She almost puts you nobles to shame in being uppity, but she saved my hide so I let it be. Anyway, her name is Selena of the Glade and she says she's a Light Elf. She also has some kind of outstanding grudge with the Dark Elves."

Sana nodded. "The Elves were once one unified people. The legends provide little detail, but some great coup was brought about by a faction of Elves who wished to depose the Archdruid and install their own regime. The leader of this coup was a male elf. This was absolutely abhorrent to a strongly matriarchal society and so a civil war broke out that essentially sundered the Elves into two factions. I know little more except that the losers of this conflict became known as Dark Elves, and that the Dark Elf survivors were driven into exile. Also, the Elves always practiced a type of primal sorcery called Druidism of which we know practically nothing. The Light Elves still follow this path but the Dark Elves developed something known only as Gray Magic, said to be a debasement of natural energies just slightly less vile than Black Magic."

"Still blithely spouting your ignorance for all to hear," Robin interjected harshly.

Sana could not help lifting her chin as the shorter girl came up. Robin gripped her charred rod in two hands as always, everything of her countenance utterly concealed by the black mask and stiff high collar of her tattered robes. Only her eyes shown through, glowing fiercely from under the tattered brim of her peaked hat. "The Dark Elves only wished to have their own ideals recognized as legitimate by the established hierarchy. They wanted to sit a male elf at the head of their clan, but the Archdruid and her priestesses wouldn't even consider it. In fact, they violently opposed such a thing and started the sundering all because of their rigid intolerance! After the war, they cursed the Dark Elf remnants and drove them from their homeland! It seems to be a story that has happened more than once during history," she finished angrily, her fiery runes springing up about her.

Unbidden anger flared as Sana clenched her jaw, ready to retort, but Valor sheathed his sword quickly, stepping inbetween the two mages. "We do not have time for another historical debate between you two. We must meet with the king. He must tell us the next step of our journey."

Sana-Lynn realized the foolishness of her actions quickly and lowered her head with a sigh. "Of course, Valor, you are correct. This is no time to bicker about the past. I apologize to you, Robin."

"As well you should, lesser mage! Now let us be on with this tripe!" She stalked forward passed the guard captain. Marcus and his men watched her with wary eyes.

Gantz gave a mirthless laugh. "Well, she's back to her delightful old self. Honestly, I don't know how you all can move around here with whole bloody arsenals up your bung-chutes, but hey, were all doomed anyway, so why not?" He took off around the corner as well.

Sana had heard the pure frustration in Gantz's voice, but Valor's angry growl was still expected. The White Mage only sighed again.

Afterward, Valor ordered the Guard to see to the bodies in the corridor before he took off towards the king's chamber as well. Sana followed at a respectful distance. She felt sadness and frustration warring inside of Valor, but decided to say nothing in an effort to console him. Nothing came to mind in any case. She only wished Robin wouldn't spout such vile nonsense, but she figured that was not possible. So, Sana kept her own council and followed in Valor's agitated wake, using her staff as a walking stick. Its rhythmic click upon the tiled floor was somewhat reassuring.

Honestly, Sana would have been lost in this place, but Valor seemed to know where he was going. Following him took her swiftly passed all the opulence of the castle's corridors and to a pair of double doors opened outward. Flanked by gold armored guards that saluted at Valor's approach, Sana followed the Chosen of Earth through the doors into a truly magnificent bed chamber. King Highland lay in his massive four-posted bed, the silk curtains drawn back so that he could converse with Chancellor Breen. Other guards were stationed about the room for added security, and a number of nobles clustered in small groups, conversing quietly. Sana recognized only the one nobleman called Oster Arlington, whom she had not even officially met yet. Headmaster Dalton was also present, standing on the other side of the bed from the Chancellor. He gave Sana a quick smile.

Valor came up to the bedside and Breen made way for him with a respectful bow. The king sat up more fully, resting upon the great carved backboard of his lavish bed. He was pale and wan, his shoulder-length brown hair showing more gray than Sana had remembered seeing before. He might have seemed utterly exhausted, but for the fierce energy in his dark eyes.

Sana stood just to Valor's right flank as she entered. She immediately heard the concern in his voice as he spoke to the king. "Cousin, are you going to be all right?"

"Thanks to white magic, boy, do not worry. I have an idea of our losses, and of course, I have heard the story of the Battle for the Hall. A new legend already in the making. The Light Warriors do not disappoint."

"A small victory, cousin, but a greater failure," Valor announced in a pained voice.

The pale man reached over, putting a hand on Valor's shoulder. "You yet live, Valor, you and the others. All hope is not gone." He retracted his hand and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Though it is greatly diminished. I had hoped one night of feasting would have raised the moral of the city, so I could use it to begin to rebuild. To feast the Light Warriors and then send them off with great fanfare would have done such a thing, but I only delayed you all from your journey and caused more suffering besides. No, boy, this is not your failure, it is mine."

Dalton spoke from his side of the bed. "No such talk, now, Majesty. You need food and at least ten solid hours of rest before you will be able to receive petitioners again."

The king sighed. "I am bedridden, my friend, that will have to do. I have too much on my platter to delay any longer. We must secure the city fully, and then work on getting aid to the northern provinces."

Sana leaned in closer as Valor shook his head. "What about the northern provinces, umm... Majesty?"

The king almost seemed like he wasn't going to answer. He seemed sicker and older than ever Sana-Lynn had seen him. "Word of a vast goblin horde approaching from the north has been brought by couriers who risked rides on airships to get word here as quickly as possible in hope of aid. I have nothing to give them, Valor, except news that our entire army has been wiped out. This is the advent of the Third Goblin War, boy, but we have no force to fight the goblins and their troll allies this time. Still, I will do what I can."

Valor shook his head vehemently. "We four will fight this new goblin army by ourselves. You must focus on rebuilding the kingdom."

Despite his royal position, the king gaped. "You cannot be serious? Yes, the Light Warriors are legendary, but legends alone cannot fight an entire army, Valor. They could be anything from ten thousand to thirty thousand strong as the reports go. Such an idea is madness."

The numbers shocked Sana, but Valor only shook his head. "No more than ten thousand, perhaps a few hundred more. Goblin warhosts easily become unstable when more than a few tribes get together and would collapse into infighting. It would take an exceptional warlord to hold even ten thousand together."

Sana spoke up. "Yet ten thousand against four, Valor? Not even in legend have the Light Warriors stood against that many by themselves."

Valor half-turned toward her. "You heard the king, Sana. We are making new legends already. This will simply have to be one of them. Now please, leave the king and me to discuss these matters. If you would, go to the sitting room and see this elf that the fool thief spoke of earlier. I will rely on you for any important information she brings as I doubt either Gantz or Robin will give me straight answers."

Sana did not wish to leave, but simply nodded. Dalton gave her a reassuring smile from his side of the bed before she went. The small clusters of nobles gave her questioning looks as she passed from the spacious bed chamber to the adjacent sitting room. Also large and lavish, the girl took a glass of white wine from a servant and sipped at it before stopping to one side of the room. Several more clusters of nobles resided in here, speaking amongst themselves.

Quickly, against the far wall, Sana spotted black-clad Gantz leaning with arms folded. A tall woman in a strange outfit of rough hides and a ram-horned headress stood near him. Sana couldn't hear their conversation, but Gantz was smiling like a fool while the woman looked exasperated.

As she came closer, Sana noticed the slits in the woman's headress, and her pointed ears. Ah, so this was the Light Elf. Many of the human nobles in the room glanced suspiciously at the elf, but she affected not to notice. She seemed rather standoffish and haughty, but Sana could sense anxiety under that facade.

The White Mage came up to the two and gave a short bow to the Light Elf, cupping her hands as if she were about to bring up a drink from a fountain, and then moving those hands toward the elf, as if to offer the drink in her hands to the other.

"Ah, so I see you humans are not utterly ignorant of our ways," the elf woman announced.

"I just thought you were gonna sneeze," Gantz said lazily, picking at his teeth with a toothpick.

Despite herself, Sana giggled at Gantz's manner to which he replied with a fool's grin.

The elf woman sighed, but turned and offered the same gesture back to Sana. "So as the water's of our people are shared, so shall we share blood in battle on the Eve of World's End."

Gantz flicked the toothpick away. "Whoa, thats a bit dark. Well, little miss elf, I'll leave you here with miss prissy pants, I'm gonna go steal another one of those five meat Solancha sandwiches. Might as well eat like a bloody king while I still have the stomach for it."

Sana giggled again. "You know, Gantz, they will most likely give you one if you just ask."

He burped. "Yeah yeah, most likely, but what bloody fun is that?" Then he pushed off the wall and was gone.

The elf shook her head after him. "That human is... unique," she offered neutrally.

Sana-Lynn gave the elf a polite bow. "So, you are the Light Elf, Selena of the Glade. Are you the Seed of your Cluster, or is that held by a Priestess of the Oak only?"

The elf woman stared at her for moments, her aquamarine eyes narrowing. She fingered the handle of the whip that was wrapped about herself like a serpent. "So you know something of our organization as well. I had not thought humans remembered such things. No other I've encountered has so far."

"I am Sana-Lynn Atha, a Priestess of the Order of the White Staff, one of those who have kept the Halls of Legends in tact from ancient times. Some of us have studied legends of the old war with Chaos some five thousand years ago. The elves aided the human nations during the Grand Alliance, though all those ancient kingdoms are gone, and you elves are a divided people now."

The elf frowned. "Well, you have some of it right, I suppose that is mildly impressive."

Sana let that slide without a flicker. "I am also the Chosen of Water, Selena of the Glade. I know water and earth are very important elements in your society. It has something to do with your magic, but we aren't certain what."

The elf huffed. "Do not expect that to change anytime soon, human."

Undaunted, Sana just gripped her staff before her. She was excited. Elves were mysterious creatures. They lived in the forbidden lands on the other side of the world and had had barely any contact with humans in thousands of years. "Please, I must know, are men allowed to fight in your society?"

"Of course, human. They make up the Rangers, archers and hunters without comparison. However, they are not capable of wielding the Seed, and do not take part in Clusters. They are an auxiliary, not our true power by any means. Besides, a male that could wield the Seed would be an abomination..." Her fists suddenly clenched at her sides. "A harbinger of blight and death."

"Ah, I see."

"Do you truly, human? Please, finish your questions so that I may conclude my business here and rejoin my companions outside. I am getting sick of this asphyxiating human abode."

"Very well, why have you come to these lands, so far from your home?"

"To hunt down a traitor. For that I needed to find to Chosen of Wind. In a way I have not yet discovered, he will aid me in completing my mission in this land. Afterward, I _will_ return to my home."

Intrigued, Sana grasped another glass of wine from a passing servant and drained it in one gulp. "So, Gantz is supposed to help you find this traitor?"

"Perhaps, or perhaps he will aid me in dispatching the fool. I never thought I would be working with such an uncouth child as this Gantz creature seems to be. Unfortunately, I have little choice one way or the other. Anyhow, where is your Chosen of Fire? She is the only one I have not seen so far."

"Do you have business with her as well?"

"I do not, but I wish to see all the Chosen with my own eyes. We were hoping that at least one of our people would be Chosen of the Crystals, but apparently that is not the case. That four human children were Chosen is rather mysterious to us, yet what can we do?"

Sana shrugged off-handedly. "The Crystals work in mysterious ways." She took another wine glass from a passing servant. "My, this _is_ delicious." She swallowed it, her face strangely warm all of the sudden.

The elf woman frowned down at her with a shake of her head. "Anyhow, a good night to you, Chosen of Water. Please remember that you are a hope for this world. Try to act in accordance with that... from tomorrow on."

"I shall," Sana said happily. Strangely, her head felt kind of heavy on her shoulders, but she knew another glass of wine would clear that right up.

**IIIIIIIIIII**

The king nodded, still looking rather wan as he sat up in bed. "Of course, an airship would be the fastest way to get you to the north where you and whatever forces you can gather will face the goblin horde. However, with airships falling out of the sky seemingly at random, you cannot risk flying on one."

Valor nodded, an armored hand to his chin. "What do you know of this catastrophe with the airship's, cousin?"

"It has only stunted trade a trifle, since most people don't charter airships because of the relative expense as opposed to buying space on a conventional ship or going overland via wagon or cart. Relatively new, airships have only been used in a commercial capacity for about twenty years. Before that, they were merely weapons of war. The Second Goblin War that your father and I fought in would have gone much differently if it weren't for the Skyborne Guild and their ships. Still, why the ships are falling out of the sky, I have nothing on the matter. The guild keeps its secrets very close, and even royal authority can only get me so far with them." He paused to cough several times. "However, I have managed a correspondence with one of the guild officials, and he informs me that there is one engineer that may be able to help the Light Warriors with some alternate form of transportation."

Valor nodded. "I see, and who is this engineer?"

The king looked over. "He is something a friend of mine though we've not spoken in ages. I will send with you a royal dispatch telling him that he is to give you every aid possible even if it would divulge secrets of the guild. You are the Light Warriors, nothing must interfere with your quest."

"And he lives in the north?"

"Not precisely, boy. His estate is about three days north of Cornelia."

The Chosen of Earth folded his arms. "Very well, cousin, is there anything else I must know?"

"Yes, boy, his name. It is Rumsley... Count Cidolphus Rumsley."


	26. Cidolphus Rumsley

**Cidolphus Rumsley**

The wind felt nice on Gantz's face. He had never liked wide open spaces since he was a little kid. Urbanity fit his demeanor and his profession much better... however, it was nice to get away from Cornelia. And this time, they wouldn't be going back until Garland was done for.

Still conflicted about all that had happened to him, the thief was starting to wish he had never found that bloody crystal orb, but there was no changing that now, no matter what. He could feel it in his bones.

He walked back from the others a bit, lifting his face to the breeze again.

It was nearly noon. The day was cool, almost too cool for this time in spring, as if warmth were a luxury to the world. Well, maybe it was now. Everything was dying after all.

Anyhow, the day was bright and wide-open and gorgeous. The sky was a sapphire vault that stretched far to all horizons, the breeze chilly yet invigorating. Rolling grasslands carpeted the world, waving like a lush sea at the wind's behest.

It had been almost three days since the Light Warriors had left Cornelia to head north, seeking the estate of one Cidolphus Rumsley, supposedly an ex-engineer of the Skyborne Guild. Gantz had never had any dealings with the organization. In fact, all he had ever heard were rumors of it. Its operations were kept in utter secret, and it even had its own private guard. It was said the guild's headquarters was stationed several days east of Cornelia proper and was a factory and fortress combined in one. All the guild's wealth and power was hinted at often, but Gantz had never heard of anyone breaking in to the place let alone stealing something from it. Gantz wasn't surprised from what he'd heard. The place was barely subject to even royal authority. You didn't mess with an organization that powerful if you wanted to keep your hide intact.

Still, Gant'z didn't see why the production of airships had to be kept so secret. He'd ridden on one only once and it had been a short trip. Honestly, it was worse than sea travel for him. His stomach didn't do so well with such travel. His own feet were fast enough anyway, so why bother?

They had traveled fairly quickly on foot. Valor, Sana and Robin walked a ways in front of Gantz, though the Black Mage was off to one side a bit, moving in her usual furious stride. The Light Elf, Selena of the Glade, had decided to join them on this journey as well, but she and her animal companions were off scouting.

Gantz shook his head. He should have been the one scouting. He knew caution, he knew what to look for, and he was the fastest man alive. He should do the scouting for the four of them as they traveled. But honestly, his heart just wasn't in it. He could tell it was the same with the others. They had failed during the Dark Elf assault on the castle. Oh sure, the bloody pointy-ears had been driven off, and Valor had managed to slay that monstrous four-armed fiend that had led them, but so many people had died that shouldn't have because the Light Warriors had let their guard down.

Gantz had never been responsible for other people before. He was as unused to it as he was to failure and he didn't like either feeling at all.

But he had to move on... they all did. Their mission now was to go north and head off a massive goblin invasion all by their bloody selves. Gantz didn't have a clue how they were going to pull that off. Oh, and if they managed to survive that they would head still farther north and have to fight some ex-noble black knight that had killed a whole army single-handedly. That sounded even less entertaining.

Despite his preternatural skill and speed, Gantz knew he wasn't ready for any of this. He could tell the others didn't believe they were either despite Valor's stony determination, Sana's seeming acceptance, and Robin's angry denials to the contrary.

Traveling now, Gantz could see a small village the four would be skirting just to the west. The Light Warriors had been passing farms and farming villages since they'd left Cornelia, most of their fields still fallow. The ones that had started growing crops were producing a sickly looking yield, stunted and hardly worth the name of crops. That was just another thing Gantz tried not to think about.

And though it seemed that the central provinces were still pretty peaceful here, the thief had heard tons of reports from the outlying provinces, that they were being plagued by monster attacks. The citizens of Highland Kingdom were slowly being driven back toward its center. Refugees from the pockets had lost loved ones and homes to the advancing terror that was pressing in on the kingdom from all sides – and now this huge goblin invasion from the north.

Gantz shook his head again. How could only four people stop all this chaos?

He gripped the hilts of his long knives sheathed at his sides for reassurance, but it was little comfort. He looked up, seeing the backs of his 'allies' in this fiasco. He still didn't feel close to any of them. He supposed he could blame his own solitary nature for that. He sometimes wondered what they thought of him.

Valor walked perfectly upright, tall and broad in his plain half-plate armor. He wore a red leather undersuit beneath the plate-and-mail, an imposing figure, with a plain kite shield and bastard sword sheathed across his back. Also, he had gotten a barber to cut his hair before he had left Cornelia. It was no longer shoulder-length, but shorter, somewhat spiky, and now completely brown instead of streaked with silver. Gantz had no doubt that the fighter had put some kind of alchemical coloring in his hair to cover over the silvery highlights. The thief could only believe that this change had been part of some kind of personal penance.

Sana-Lynn walked somewhat close to Valor's side. Not quite as tall and draped in her white robes with the hood up, she held her crooked staff before her, having said very little the passed few days.

Robin, a short figure concealed utterly in her tattered black robes and peaked hat, moved stridently beside the others with both hands clenched about a three feet rod of charred black wood. She was always angry, or at least irriated, and Gantz was positive that wouldn't be changing any time soon. Her glowing eyes had been absolutely baleful the last few days and the thief had kept his distance.

Now that Gantz really looked, he actually saw that Robin's robes were just a very dark blue, not that it really mattered.

Gantz himself wore his leather breastplate and fingerless leather gloves over his traditional black clothing. His black scarf was worn over his head and knotted at the back, his worn backpack strapped tightly to his person. It contained the tools of his trade, as well as the bloody Orb of Wind in a secret pocket.

About an hour passed, when what Gantz believed was the Rumsley Estate came into view. The thief was not surprised. This Rumsley fellow was a noble after all, so the fact that his manorial grounds were huge and shouting of wealth beyond good conscience was no great shock. The place was situated on a gentle rise in the land. It was walled at its base with well manicured grounds within. The manor house itself was of white worked stone about two stories tall with railed balconies along its upper floor.

As the four came up to a large white-washed wrought iron gate, Gantz was seriously contemplating stealing the most valuable thing he could find on the grounds to punish this overweening lout for his foolish opulence in a time when the poor were being driven from their homes. Gantz figured he must be like a lot of nobles who tried to wrap themselves in wealth in order to pretend that the world wasn't coming to an end.

In a surprise move, Valor didn't wait at the gate for someone to let them in. He merely went up and wrenched open one of the finely wrought doors, breaking the locking mechanism with a loud clink and striding passed the gates while the other three looked on. A second later, Robin growled and followed him in, then Sana, seemingly forlorn. Gantz just muttered to himself: "No sense of subtly at all, I could have picked that in a blink."

They all followed a white stone path passed manicured hedges and decorative arbors that still managed to look fresh and healthy until they stopped before a white stone plaza with a great three-tired fountain gurgling in its center. On the other side was the mighty columned veranda that marked the entrance to the mansion. Servants and gardeners had stopped working to glance curiously at the strangers.

Without hesitation, Valor went up to knock on one of the arched double doors, but one opened before he even fully topped the stairs. A stiff old fellow in a fancy black suit barred his way in. "May I presume that you intruding knaves wish to speak with the Lady of the Manor?"

Valor seemed to have finally remembered his pomposity. He gave a conciliatory bow. "I am sorry for intruding, chamberlain, but we have a need to speak with the Lord of the Manor, not the Lady."

Gantz came up on Valor's flank just in time to see the old manservant sneer. "Well, then not only do you vagabonds have no sense of courtesy, but you are ignorant as well. This manor has no Lord. The Lady Rumsley runs the manor, the grounds, the staff, and the House finances. It is she that is in authority here."

Gantz looked confused, but Valor just gave a nod. "Then we must speak to her with all haste."

The old man's features pinched even more. "I think not, you itinerant louts, now begone with you, or I shall have the keeper fetch the dogs!"

Robin suddenly stalked up the stairs, her fiery runes ablaze about her. "You will open your doors, you withering fool, or I will burn them down! We will not ask again!"

The old servant looked shocked at Robin's sudden glowing display, but stood firm until Valor simply picked him up and set him off to the side. Gantz followed the Chosen of Earth inside the mansion to get a look at the opulent foyer. He didn't get much more than a second before Valor shouted: "We are here to speak with the Lady of the House and we'll not leave until this has happened!"

"How dare you!" Called a woman from the top of a twin staircase centered in the foyer. She was a handsome middle-aged woman with long styled brown hair, wearing a fine samite dress of yellow-slashed purple, rubies ensconced in rings on each finger.

Valor looked to her. "Are you the Lady Rumsley?"

"You've no right to barge in here and demand –!"

Solid yellow runes replaced Robin's blazing orange and a chunk of masonry from the floor suddenly flew up and shattered against a length of balustrade near the woman. She flinched and stepped back in alarm at a sudden cloud of dust.

Valor stepped up. "We seek Count Cidolphus Rumsley. Tell us where to find him, and we will leave you be. You need never see us again."

"My foolish prat of a father, then, I should have known. He lives amidst his refuse heaps at the very northern edge of the estate. Seek him if you wish, but do not ever step foot in my house again." Afterward, she turned away into an adjacent corridor.

Valor nodded and looked to the Black Mage. "Thank you for aiding me, Robin, it seems I am losing my patience with noble etiquette as of late."

Robin quivered where she stood. "I don't want your blasted thanks! Let us be done with this petty errand." She whirled about and went back outside.

Gantz was thinking of parting the Lady of the Manor from some of her fine ruby rings when Valor glared at him. "Do not think of plying your trade here, thief."

"Don't tell me what to think, you bloody noble buffoon," Gantz growled and went back outside. He stalked out to find Sana sitting on the stairs of the veranda, her white robes wrapped about her, her hood still up. She had said nothing this whole time. Robin, he saw, was already skirting the mansion, servants and gardeners moving from her path with alacrity, her blazing runes around her again.

Without waiting, Gantz moved like a blur and jumped fifteen feet. He caught a balcony railing on the second floor and came on to it in a crouch. He then stood upon the railing, before nimbly running across it to jump again, far too high. He cleared the peaked roof studded with dormer windows, and came down on the other side of the mansion into a roll. Coming up, he headed directly north at full speed, blasting passed manicured gardens and leaping over decorative hedgerows.

He came quickly to the northern edge of the grounds and surprise crossed his face. Heaps of metal refuse surrounded a wooden hovel, no better than the worse shacks Gantz had ever seen in the docks. An old creaking windmill backed the hovel, in no better repair than the shoddy wooden domicile itself.

And there, on a raggedy canvas hammock set up before the hovel was a heavyset old man, snoring with the sound of a rasping saw pulled between two burly foresters. At the foot of the hammock were half-a-dozen heavy clay jars with triple X's marked on their fronts. Gantz knew all too well what they contained.

This was a noble? The thief couldn't be more shocked. He decided then, that he would quietly reconnoiter this place until the other three much slower Chosen showed up.

He started with the old man himself. The fellow was rather burly and barrel-chested, and even keeping his distance, Gantz could smell the wreak of alcohol all over him. He wore a tattered linen shirt and heavy leather pants covered over by a oily frock, though his feet were bare. His head was a neckless lump, bald but for fringes of scraggly white hair on the sides and he wore a set of large goggles with heavy lenses set into them. The man also grasped a strange metal implement upon his snoring chest. It looked somewhat like a mace, but was thinner and had a curious shape to it. It didn't look anything like one of Gantz's lock-picking tools, being much too large, but the thief was willing to bet it was a tool of some kind.

Satisfied with his inspection of the old man, Gantz went about the wasteland. Heaps of garbage were scattered all about, but none of it really smelled. It was all metal, it seemed, or broken wood beams, or ruined masonry. These piles continued back a ways until he reached the extreme north of the grounds. Here sat something rather huge concealed under a number of canvas tarps that were staked into the ground. Gantz could only believe by the size of the thing that it was a kind of small airship. He knew about airships falling out of the sky recently, and was certain it would be dangerous to ride on one. However, Valor had said they needed to find Cidolphus Rumsley in order to procure a faster way to travel so they could meet the goblin horde in time to stop it from rampaging too far south.

An alternative means of travel besides an airship. Well, a river ship from the docks of Cornelia would have been faster than walking, but since all the major rivers in Highland flowed south from a northern source, such a ride would have been upriver with sweeps, decidedly slower than Valor wanted to go.

So what was this thing under the tarps supposed to be?

By the time the thief returned to the hovel, Robin had showed up. She had simply plopped down on the ground before the old man, her orange runes blazing angrily about her. Still, she made no move to wake the man up, which rather surprised Gantz. He figured the Black Mage would have been harassing and threatening the old fellow within an inch of his life. Instead, Robin had closed her eyes and almost seemed to be meditating. He had seen her do this before, but still wasn't certain what it was for... unless she was trying to keep herself from exploding, literally and figuratively.

Sana-Lynn showed up next. The White Mage passed Robin without the other even stirring, and ignored a curious look from Gantz where he leaned against the wall of the hovel. She came up and lowered her hood to look at the snoring fellow and suddenly a strangely warm, nigh-affectionate smile lit up her pretty face. There she stayed, until Valor showed up and she backed away, replacing her hood and standing aside.

Valor frowned at the whole dilapidated scene and Gantz frowned at him. Bloody fancy pants. But Valor simply went up to the old man and shook him on the shoulder to rouse him...

Nothing happened. The snoring continued unabated.

Valor shook him again. "Lord Rumsley, we are in need of your assistance."

The snoring grew louder.

"My Lord, please, we need you to –"

A great bear-like growl emerged from the man and his beefy arms flailed about. Valor stepped back, as more growls and flailing persisted, until the heavyset fellow finally sat up. He put a hand to his balding head and then looked around. He saw all four of them and finally stood. His voice was like a scratchy rumble. "Well what in the bloody bleeding bowls of the Abyss do we have here? Wait, don't answer that till I've had me breakfast." He cast about, grasping one of the large clay jars scattered about the foot of the hammock. He lifted it and took a healthy swig, leaking it all down his bushy white beard. "Ah, now that's as tender mercy. Okay, what do you ninnies want again?"

Valor, obviously offended, started to ask something.

The old fellow interrupted."Wait, don't ask till I've had me second breakfast. Most important meal o' the day, you see." He took another several deep gulps from the bottle and finished with a shuddering belch. He then slammed the jar on the ground before going around the hammock and off toward the heaps.

Gantz just grinned at the old man's manner. Neither Robin nor Sana stirred. Valor went after the man, pulling a fine scroll from a small belt pack. "Count Rumsley, we have a royal dispatch from the king himself, telling you to aid us in getting north with all possible speed. You see, we are the four Light Warriors."

The man stopped short, snatching the scroll from Valor's hand. "Ah good, this'll be what I use to wipe me arse after I take a bomber. Don't follow me again, whelp, less you want to see nature's call. Not a pretty sight, I assure you."

Valor actually wrinkled his nose in disgust, and Gantz had to stifle a laugh. The Chosen of Earth forged ahead, however. "I have heard that Cidolphus Rumsley was a great man, and a genius engineer."

The old man laughed raucously. "Aye, I've heard that too, boy, but I wasn't witless enough to believe such fool stories then or now. Now get away from me, I ain't bloody impressed by Light Warriors or anything else and I've got a bloody avalanche pounding in me head."

The Chosen of Earth went rigid. "We are not leaving until you help us."

The man flung up his hands. "Fine, stay here the rest of yer bloody days if you like, ain't no skin of my arse!" He turned away again and disappeared behind a huge metal heap.

Valor looked absolutely befuddled. Gantz pushed off the hovel's wall and walked up to his side. "Well, he's the best bloody noble I've ever met."

Valor clenched his jaw, his voice tight. "Is this a game to you, Gantz? We need this man's help or more people are going to die. They are already dying, in the pockets, and elsewhere. I was expecting Cidolphus Rumsley to be a man of principle and genius, not a drink-sodden lout with the manners of a tavern slattern."

Gantz sneered. "Right, we all have to line up and bow before the great Valor Loftlan, don't we?"

Valor growled. "This is no time for more division, thief, we need to stand together, we need to work together. Are you too selfish to see that?"

"Selfish? Ha, the bloody Crystals chose the wrong bunch of fools if you ask me. We can't save anyone, we can't even save ourselves! This is all a waste of time if ever there was one!"

Sana-Lynn suddenly came up from behind. "That is fear talking, Gantz, not you."

"Ah, so the lovely High Priestess of the Grand Mucky-Muck finally shows up. Well, little miss priss, how are we going to save the world today then? Please share with us your bountiful _bloody_ wisdom!"

Valor shook his head. "Sana-Lynn is right, Gantz."

The thief smacked himself on the forehead. "Oh, of course she is, fearless leader, how could I be so blind? Everyone is right except for the bloody thief, aren't they. I might as well just pack up and leave you high-minded heroes to finish this great quest by yourselves. No need for a lowly street rat to get underfoot of the two great paragons of justice!"

With a roar, Robin suddenly stood and strode passed them all. Valor called after her: "What do you think you are doing, Robin Magus?"

"Walking, you idealistic ignoramus. I'll fight the Dark War by myself, like I should have from the beginning! Anything would be more productive that sticking with you dithering imbeciles."

Sana-Lynn's own anger came to fore. "Garland would eat you alive, Black Mage."

That brought Robin up short for only a blink, before she started walking again. "So be it, at least I will be doing something rather than wasting time listening to you idiotic children bicker."

Valor sighed heavily, but Gantz yelled after her: "Good bloody riddance, you choleric midget! I should have skewered you the first day we bloody met!"

Robin did not stop, but shrieked back. "And I should have burned the very air from your lungs!"

"Oh yeah, well come back and do it, then," he taunted, "we can finish what we started in the warehouse!"

"Cut your own throat, you prat, it will save us both time, and I've wasted enough in the presence of fools!" And then she disappeared behind a heap of junk.

Gantz just howled wordlessly, but then turned away. All three of them stood there seething.

"Well now, there wasn't anything about this in the legends I read," said the old man from behind.

Gantz turned instinctively with the other two. Valor shook his head. "We will leave you now, Lord Rumsley, there is no point in lingering here any further."

The old engineer just grunted. "Well, I suppose giving up is natural, especially in your boots._ If _you are who you say you are anyway."

Valor's gaze hardened. "We are not giving up, old man."

"Call me Cid, whelp, and that's good, cause I ain't giving up either. Now, the lot o' you can carry your sorry arses to the north of the compound. I've got something waiting there that knock your blocks off, if I can get the blasted thing to work. Might as well tell you a bloody story about how bloody airships produce bloody lift as well." He moved on a few steps, adjusting his goggles, before he turned back. "Well? I ain't waiting for a bunch of babies to get over their tantrums! Suck it up and move on or stay here and drown in self-pity. What'll it be?"

"Fine," Valor said curtly.

Sana just nodded.

Gantz suddenly laughed. "You know, old man, I think I might like you."

"Oh really, well save the hugs and kisses for later, lassie, cause we gotta lot o' work to do."


End file.
